Et Si Tu N'Existais Pas
by Cosmic Dragora
Summary: RED Spy happens across BLU Scout's mom while on the job. RED Spy/BLU Scout's mom
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** For the record, BLU Scout's mom definitely has a Fran Drescher voice mixed with a heavy Boston accent. Oh God the horror.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own or claim to own anything regarding Team Fortress 2, which in all rights belongs to Valve.

_**Et Si Tu N'Existais Pas**_

Cosmic Dragora

It started out as a day off. The intels were being moved, and both RED and BLU teams were awarded a break. RED Spy couldn't help but feel relieved that he would finally be getting out of the hell known only as Sawmill. It rained so often, that even if it were not raining, dark clouds loomed overhead making everything quite a bit less cheerful.

Not that there was much to be cheerful about.

"Hey, Frenchie!" The voice of Soldier cut through the silence like a hot butterfly knife through a back, "I'm takin' the boys to get some ribs," with Soldier, every word was spoken as if he were barking orders—a habit Spy had never quite been able to get used to or ignore, "You up for it?"

Spy inhaled his cigarette, letting the smoke gather before exhaling slowly. He didn't really want to go. The last time he went to anything team-related, Scout got wasted and ended up pissing on everyone's shoes for some reason. From that day forth, Spy had code-named Scout 'Piss Boy,' which never did sit too well with him. It was his own fault for not knowing how much alcohol he could handle, in Spy's opinion. "Ah, _non_, _merci_. I can zink of at least ten good reasons not to suffer wiz zis _merde_ you call food."

Soldier's face showed that of disgust—at least, the part that was readily visible. "You French bastard, you don't know what you're saying!" Spy ignored the comment, and decidedly took another drag from his cigarette. He made a mental note to buy more once he got out of Sawmill. Soldier, as his custom, saluted, and walked off. Spy heard him mutter something to the effect of, "That's downright un-American!" Cue eyeroll and Captain Obvious.

He didn't quite understand Solder's fascination with ribs. The meat never came clean off the bone and they were messy as hell. "You're just being an uptight girly-man." He recalled one of Soldier's many retorts to something he didn't find pleasing. It left a particularly sour taste in his mouth.

Or perhaps it was the brand of cigarettes he had picked up.

The back door was open and waiting for him—begging him to walk through and escape the never-ending war he had grown accustomed to. An engine revved—probably Sniper's camper van. Sometimes cutting the break wire didn't seem out of the question with that guy. Maybe he deserved it for throwing bottles of his own bodily fluids around at people, yelling, "JARATE!" every five minutes in order to "spy check."

"Just spy-checkin' ya, mate." The disgusting, piss-throwing man would grin and run off, only to return moments later and "spy check" the same area again—which happened to be where Spy hadn't moved from. "Gotta watch out for that BLU Spy." He says, and laughs because the idea of Spy being covered head to toe in such a foul-smelling liquid (seriously, what did this guy DRINK?) was absolutely hilarious.

Sniper was a good asset to the team, when he wasn't throwing around his 'Jarate' and killing off people Spy had specifically targeted for himself. Waiting for the respawn was torture, and every second was crucial.

Spy stepped out into the afternoon sunlight. The world was much different outside the Sawmill. It seemed brighter, more welcoming, less bloody…

Well, he would have to enjoy the brightness, and the welcoming, and the lack of blood later. He had a job to do. As usual, with his down-time, he took the opportunity to investigate his victims. He had to, since he was a great spy, and great spies are always ten steps ahead of their enemies, unless they're trying to backstab them. He retrieved a small notepad from his jacket pocket, and flipped it open, revealing names, dates, circled things and crossed out things, and a doodle or two. Who hadn't he retrieved the most information on yet? He would probably have to tell Medic at some point that the BLU Demo was, indeed, shagging his wife. Medic still believed it was just a ploy to irritate him, and while it did, he didn't think it was true. Perhaps BLU Pyro should be looked into. The last time Spy got a hold on BLU Pyro's purse, there was nothing in it except an old receipt FOR the bag. Whoever bought it paid in cash and bought it at some cheap dollar store type place. Upon further investigation, the cashier that had rung out that particular purchase had been fired, and the address they had used upon employment six months earlier had been fake. The question still remained why BLU Pyro (or the team Pro, for that matter) had a cheap purse.

Although he prided himself in being the best of the best, Spy couldn't help but feel like the Pyro was throwing him for a loop at every turn. The man, or woman, or whatever it was would be discovered soon. If anything, the Pyro also had an insane sense of humor, or was an incredibly effeminate man.

At this thought, Spy became aware of someone breathing down his neck. It was a rasping kind of breath, one that sounded like it might give out from all of the asbestos and soot. "Pyro, _mon dieu_, what do you zink you are doing?"

"Ihhhhnnng duhhhnnuhhho." Pyro shrugged.

"You do not know?" Spy turned to face his teammate, "Yet you read over my shoulder?" Pyro nodded. Spy had always found it mildly perplexing how childish this person could act.

"Hnnghn nihhhg brhnhhhnk." Pyro waved, turning his (or her) attention to an old, rusty red truck. What sounded like humming emitted from Pyro's mask, and keys were extracted from a pocket. Spy averted his gaze back to his notes. How rude some people were! Reading over his shoulder and all.

He considered BLU Engineer, but ever since his last venture to Texas, he hadn't quite recovered from the heat and over abundance of Mexican food. Besides he was in the mood for something that didn't wreak havoc on his digestive system. Fish was fine. Boston had fish. It was a nice city. BLU Scout's file needed to be updated, and he had some time to himself, so why not?

A car horn distracted him from his plans. He glanced up in time to see Pyro waving out the truck window and peeling off down the dirt road to the gate. What a crazy person.

The journey to Boston had been a short one compared to traveling to Germany or Scotland for extensive information, but the easy part was over. He had to avoid being caught. Tracking down the BLU Scout the first time was a piece of cake, since the kid was the most ignorant team member next to Soldier. His house was a modest one, not terribly far from the ocean side, where his mother lived alone when not being visited by one of her 8 children (or their company). The last time he scoured the house he was only able to find pictures of these people, and catch glimpses of BLU Scout's mom. It didn't matter too much, since BLU Scout was the only real target. All Spy had to do was gather information on him. No killing. No attacking. No bloodshed. The war was on a break, and Spy wasn't about to go bloodthirsty killer on anyone. Yet.

He found the house, nestled in between other houses that looked somewhat similar. The paint was a dark shade of blue, announcing to the world where the family's loyalties were. BLU scum.

There was no car in the driveway, no lights on in the house. A quick check to see if the BLU Scout disguise was still on his person, and Spy took the opportunity to approach the place.

Locked. No problem. Check under the mat, and bingo! House key. He wouldn't even have to pick the lock. There wasn't much to say about the interior of the house. It had house-things that a house should. Pictures of the large family hung everywhere, and Spy couldn't help but roll his eyes in disgust at them. One or two even had a man he presumed to be the father of these children, but he didn't recall seeing or even hearing about him the last time he visited.

The kitchen was clean and pristine, containing brightly colored counters and appliances. Spy could almost imagine the modern housewife that had to be the Scout's mother preparing dinner for an insane number of boys.

The woman probably suffered severe prolapse. What woman WOULDN'T suffer some sort of trauma after birthing 8 of these Bostonian brats?

Then there were the bedrooms. There were only three—two of them containing two sets of bunk beds—and trying to figure out which one contained the BLU Scout's personal items wasn't proving to be an easy task. Each room had baseball paraphernalia, similar looking hats, blue colored bedding…It was like each son had been treated like a clone. Granted, they had all moved out who knew how long ago, attending college or living in their own houses, so personal belongings were less likely to be hanging around. Assuming the BLU Scout visited home more often than his brothers, the bunk that was the messiest (and had more blood on it) was probably the right one.

There was surprisingly little to find. A left-handed batter's helmet was lying on top of the unkempt blue sheets. Odd, since the Scout was right-handed. Maybe it wasn't the right bed after all. Some nail clippings were caught between the mattress and the bedframe, but the ends were jagged. The Scout was a nail biter.

A few old notes were underneath the mattress. Some seemed to be love notes between the boy and undoubtedly some crush in high school. Maybe even middle school, based on the writing skills (or lack thereof) that both possessed.

As Spy reached for another note, he heard the distinct sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Thinking it might possibly be the mother—or worse, the actual BLU Scout—he shoved the notes back into their rightful place, and crammed the mattress back into the bedframe. He panicked, thinking for a moment that he had taken off his disguise. It was still (thankfully) secured to his head. His cloaking watch was ready, just in case—

"Hello?" The door had opened and a voice—a female's voice—rang out against the silence. It was a nasally sound, quite unlike the soft-spoken girls of Spy's hometown. No, this voice was slightly piercing, kind of hard to take, not at all gentle and warming, and definitely dripped with the Boston accent he had tried so hard to perfect. It was the most beautiful voice he had ever heard. "Is anyone theyuh? Scout, sweetie, is that you?"

So the whelp hadn't been home yet? Perhaps on his way.

"Yeah Mah!" Spy called out, jumping off the bunk and landing hard on the thin carpet, "I jus' got home!" Spy had to admit to himself, he was really doing quite well mimicking voices these days.

"Well don't just leave yuh muthuh tuh struggle with the groceries, get yuh can ovuh here!" Spy was reluctant to stay and help, especially since his cover could be blown any minute. He had to, again, remind himself that he was the best spy there was, and that he could definitely stick around without arousing suspicion. With this in mind, he left the room and rounded the corner, expecting to come face to face with someone who didn't quite fit the mold of what he believed a mother should look like.

Curves. _Mon Dieu_, the curves. They were in all the right places. How had this woman been able to keep such a figure after 8 children? Not to mention she had to be at least middle aged by now. Hardly any wrinkles, creamy pale skin, bright blue eyes…

"Son, whaddya lookin' at me like that fuh?" The woman asked as she reached for her purse, "Gawd, it hasn't been that lawng since yuh saw me." After digging around momentary, she produced a pack of gum. "Are yuh on anuthuh break or is this wah finally ovuh?" She pulled the wrapper apart with her teeth and yanked the pink piece of gum out before telling the Spy to hurry up and carry the bags into the kitchen. "Gawd, since when are yuh such a lazy bum?" The woman rolled her eyes. "Can't even reply tuh yuh muthuh. Kids these days." She dropped her purse down on a coffee table, picked up a few bags and ordered the person whom she thought was her son to follow. Spy reluctantly complied.

He didn't really want to stay and do this, but he had to admit she looked damn fine. He hadn't researched thoroughly into the BLU Scout's background last time—merely picked up some fingerprints, hair, a diary, and blood sample. If he HAD stayed longer last time, however, he would have made sure to study this woman very carefully.

"So tell me, hun, how have yuh been?" She asked as she rifled through her shopping bags and produced cans. "How is work? Stayin' outta trouble?" Though her back was turned to him, Spy could faintly hear her gnawing away on her gum. He figured even beauties had annoying habits.

"Uh, well, work is alright, I guess." Spy shrugged, "It ain't all that excitin', what with thuh shootin' and thuh killin' and thuh cafeteria food."

"I suppose that's yuh way of sayin' yuh want me tuh make yuh lunch?" The woman asked as she stacked cans into a cabinet otherwise filled with them, "What'll yuh have?"

"Eh. Anything is fine, Mah." Spy wasn't one hundred percent certain on the Scout's favorite meal yet. He knew his favorite candy was Mike and Ikes. Mostly he just wanted to know more about this mother of his.

"Well alright, hun, let me just come ovuh hee-uh and take these bags from yuh. You can sit down yuh know. Gawd." She shook her head, "Usually yah sit yuh can down on thuh couch and I have to bribe yuh tuh move! Are yuh sick or somethin'?"

"No, I'm fine, I just need some lunch."

"Well let me feel yuh foah-head just in case."

"No, really Mah, I'm fine!"

"Fine, whatevuh! Just sit down and I'll make yuh somethin' tuh eat." She paused a moment and sniffed the air. "Yuh know, I sweah I smelled smoke when I got home."

Uh oh.

"And I smell it again." Her gaze ultimately landed on the RED Spy, who could only try and remain calm, should his cover be blown. It was such a simple mistake he couldn't believe he didn't think of it. On the battlefield, smoke is everywhere. There's smoke in the hallways, in the corners, in the intel room, in the bathroom, in the fallout shelters, in the food—it was unavoidable. But here, in a smoke-free environment (hell, there were even two smoke detectors in the living room), even the scent lingering on clothes could be easily picked out.

Her face was next to his within seconds, taking in the air around him. "Oh my GAWD , have yuh been SMOKIN again?" She took in another whiff of air and added, "And yuh smell like cheap cologne!" She pulled away quite suddenly, arms crossed, and demanded an explanation. Spy tried to cover.

"Naw, honest Mah, all the guys I work with smoke, remembuh?"

"Yeah, that's why I asked." She blew a small bubble with her chewing gum and snapped it, "If I find out yuh smoked again, yuh in fuh a world uh hurt, yuh he-ah me?"

"Uh…yeah." Spy shrugged, "But, uh, this cologne? Ain't cheap, Mah." Honestly, it was all the rage back home!

"It smells awful, and I ain't gunna have my son walkin' around smellin' like a trash can."

"T-trash can!" This woman OBVIOUSLY didn't have a sense of smell. "This is good stuff, what are yuh sayin'? What do yuh WANT me tuh wear?" All of a sudden it was personal, and Spy wasn't going to stand around idly while his favorite brand was being slandered.

"Well, what ah yuh, 19? 20?" She turned toward the kitchen stove and opened a cabinet full of instant food and bread, "Go get yuhself some Old Spice or that Hai Karate yuh brothuh used tuh weah. Yuh too old fuh English Leathuh…" She paused to study the contents of the cabinet, and for a few moments Spy really hoped she'd stay away from the Kraft products, "Yuh nevuh gunna get a girlfriend, yuh know that, right?" She went for the white bread, but that didn't make him feel any better. "Yuh feelin' like deviled ham sandwiches, hun?" The question didn't come out as a question, but more of a 'this is what I feel like having, so you're going to have it too.'

"Sure."

"Yuh sure ah quiet!" A can opener was produced, "Not that I'm complainin'!" Two cans were opened and emptied into a bowl. From what the Spy could see, he knew he'd instantly regret this. "Yuh nevuh ansah'd my question. Is this wah ovuh?"

"Not yet. Probably nevuh will be."

"Well at least it's keepin' yuh off thuh streets. I don't need yuh gettin' hauled intuh jail again." Chopped pimentos were thrown into the bowl next. Oh Lord, what had he gotten himself into? "Yuh remembuh the last time? Couldn't keep yuh sticky finguhs tuh yuhself. I honestly thought I raised my son bettuh than this!" Out of the fridge came the mayo, some cheese he couldn't discern, and a bottle of what looked like hot sauce, "But I've said it befo-ah and I'll say it again. I love yuh just as much as I love yuh brothuhs. I just wish yuh'd stay away from the crime. It's hahd on a muthuh, y'know?"

"Well, it's my job now. And I get paid fuh it." Now everything was being MIXED for crying out loud! What kind of sandwich would that make? He hoped this wouldn't be like the time he tried chicken salad on that one hot day in the middle of July. Just thinking about it made him nauseous.

"Once this is all done and ovuh, yuh bettuh be turnin' a new leaf." The spread went down on the bread, and crusts were cut off. "Yuh'll nevuh get married if yuh hangin' around all these men all thuh time." The moment called for a comment such as 'Gosh Mah, how do you know I don't LIKE that sorta thing?' but for some reason this woman's cooking had struck the fear of God into Spy.

"Uh….yeah…." Was all he could say when the completed sandwich triangles were placed in front of him. It was now or never. Do or die. He had to suck it up and eat these or face consequences. Sure, he could just backstab her a few times, but the respawn law didn't apply here, and it would really be a shame to kill someone completely innocent.

Though this…cooking…might be considered a crime against humanity.

He took a breath and bit into the mess that he otherwise wouldn't have eaten if he were paid. It tasted bad at first, after a few more chews it was better. Better than cafeteria food, actually. Spy decided he could choke a few more down, since it wasn't the worst thing he's ever tasted. One of those nuclear waste containers that was often called 'soda' was placed in front of him, but he dared not drink it.

"That's wee-ahd, usually yuh chuggin' those things down."

"Maybe laytuh."

"I'm thinkin' tuna casserole fuh dinnuh, maybe?"

"Yeah…okay…"

"Yuh don't like tuna casserole no moah?" He heard tires in the driveway and a car door slam.

"Er-uh-no! I love it, just, uh, I need to—uh—get the mail." He could even hear his Boston accent slipping as he hurried to get out of the room and cloak. Not two seconds later the real BLU Scout kicked open the front door and called out for his mother. Spy took the opportunity to slip out the door as quickly and quietly as possible. He could hear the Scout loudly exclaiming he was back and that he had been held up at the station, and when did she make these sandwiches, and could he have some?

He hung outside the doorframe only shortly. The cloaking device only had so much power. If the woman had any suspicions, any questions, she didn't raise them. She did exclaim that he had gotten the mail in record time, to which the Scout asked what she was talking about (mouth full of those strange sandwiches, of course.)

With nothing left to do except check the cars for anything useful, he decided his time here was up.

Maybe some lobster wasn't out of the question.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Fixed a few mistakes in the first chapter. My apologies for any glaring errors, the chapter was written months ago!

/

The break had been relatively fruitless for the RED Spy. He gained a few more notes for the BLU Scout's file, but most of them were about his mother. He knew where she shopped for groceries, where she got her hair done, what her favorite dessert was (she was a sucker for the tiramisu from an Italian bakery not too far away. If it wasn't that, it was those cookies they made,) and heck, he even knew what she wore to bed (not that he _intentionally_ tried to figure that one out.)

He couldn't help but feel that he was losing his touch. An entire weekend, and he couldn't even find medical records on his victim. Just a lot of useless information on his mother, and what good was THAT? It's not like he was holding her hostage. That wasn't part of the game.

It was a strange thing to him. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. He didn't _love_ her that was for sure. He just found her intriguing. She wasn't bad looking, he knew, but he'd scored much younger, hotter women. Women who could cook gourmet foods, speak five languages, shoot a gun and hit the target with their eyes closed. This woman was just so ordinary. An ordinary woman with the voice of an angel.

"Now, I don't mind if someone's up here, normally, but yeh need t' get back on the field, mate." The Sniper commented from his window seat, "You've been skulkin' around more 'n usual."

The Spy didn't answer. He and the Sniper were by no means friends. Sure, occasionally they'd have smoke breaks together with the Demoman. Then the Pyro would show up because cigarette smoke was like catnip to him. It was a strange sight to see.

"Buggar!" The Sniper hissed and moved away from the window as an array of rockets and bombs flew in. Spy, amidst the chaos, still couldn't help but wonder what that cool beauty back in Boston was up to.

The Sniper had exploded into a million pieces, which was to be expected. Spy somehow dodged the fray without a second thought and left the deck. His mind was elsewhere. Even on the battlefield he forgot to cloak—but that seemed to work in his favor. He thought about how she looked at the café drinking her cheap sugar-loaded coffee as he backstabbed the BLU Medic (whose horrible, strangled scream alerted his other teammates.) He wondered why she even meant anything at all to him as he dodged a crocket and absentmindedly backstabbed the BLU Demo.

Maybe this had something to do with that face chemistry thing. Maybe not.

He sidestepped a charred corpse, meaning a Pyro was in the area, but whether it was friend or foe, he didn't bother wondering. Perhaps, he thought, it _was_ the face chemistry thingy. He did find her face attractive. That's what face chemistry was, right? Well, it didn't matter.

Someone charged out of a corner, but a quick shot from his pistol put them out. He didn't even bother looking.

All of this thinking and mindless backstabbing ultimately wound him back to his base and intel room. It was rarely his job to fetch intelligence, so of course his body wouldn't draw him to the opposing team's headquarters. Not that it mattered—he didn't know the door's combination.

He heard movement quite suddenly, and turned in time for a knife to be lodged in his right lung. _Damn_. The other Spy must have followed him in. This was, indeed, very careless of him. Not to mention embarrassing.

He wouldn't let the BLU Spy have time to draw back and slash again. Instead he pulled the knife from his chest and lodged it in his enemy's throat. With a surprised, gargled gasp, the BLU Spy fell to the ground in a heap. That was that.

The pain from the wound was excruciating. How could anyone get used to pains like this? A few of his teammates, maybe, but most of them were insane. With that final thought, he turned to leave. The body would be gone soon.

"Careless, _mon ami,_ careless." Came a voice behind him before his inevitable death. It hurt being backstabbed. It was as if all the nerves in his back were being stabbed by tiny knives. It didn't quite hurt as much as being burned alive. The darkness enveloped him, and the pain resided. It always seemed far too long. The pain always lasted too long. The rebuilding always lasted too long.

But there he was, not a few seconds later according to the clock. He checked to make sure his body still functioned. Everything seemed fine…except that he had done a shoddy job on the field. It didn't matter how many kills he had racked up, at the end of the day, he was killed by the opposing team's spy. That was just sad.

/

"Listen up, MAGGOTS." Soldier's voice rang out against the RED War Room walls, "I tend to think our team is _the best_ in the world, but _apparently_ some of you are trying to make me look like a fool!" As he shouted this he shoved his face up against Scout, who retaliated by whining and bitching about how he was carrying the team through every victory they ever had and how it was obviously everyone else's fault. "QUIET DOWN, BOY, OR IT'LL BE KITCHEN DUTY FOR YOU." Soldier pumped up the volume, which caused Scout to increase his, and as usual, a shouting match ensued. Everyone else took the opportunity to catch up on some reading or doodling. Demo passed out and his booze tipped and made a mess everywhere. Sniper may have been asleep or something…somehow.

At some point, Soldier took his shovel and knocked the Scout out cold. A tooth flew over Spy's head. "Now listen up!" Soldier bellowed, "You're not all being paid to suck! That's what a hooker is for!" They'd all heard Soldier's hooker rant more than anyone cared to admit, and usually Scout was conscious to make an offhanded remark about it. Not today

They were dismissed after the long-winded explanation about how RED was the superior color and everyone was giving it a bad name with their crappy skills. To Soldier, everyone was fighting like girls, and that was just plain not patriotic. "Fourth of July this Monday, and I expect to see some appreciation for this great country!" Spy had to roll his eyes at that. There were only three people on the team who were even American. Possibly four, but at this point, the Pyro might as well have been an androgynous pile of slime.

2Fort wasn't anything special—just your average farmland with two buildings not twenty feet from each other. Spy figured he would have rather been in Double Cross. At least the locals watching the fight provided some entertainment. Hell, he was even asked to sign someone's croissant once.

He pulled out a new pack of cigarettes and studied the package before pulling one out with his mouth and lighting it. One long, satisfying drag later, he continued his walk along the quiet base. At one point an explosion was heard. Demoman had probably accidentally set a bomb off or something…unless it was Scout again. Ugh, man. The damn kid was hitting his baseball around and it crashed through Demo's workshop at the dig site in Egypt. The explosions from that caused one of the biggest cave-ins known to man.

"'ey Frenchie, y'mind helpin' me out, man? I gotta clean dis crap up befoah my Mah visits." The Spy turned to face the Scout, who as usual, didn't know who he was dealing with. Or, perhaps, didn't care. He was currently sweeping bits of broken glass into a heap and trying to scoop it up with his hands into a plastic bag. _Mon Dieu_. The stupidity was astounding.

"Zere eez no reason az to _why_ I should be 'elping you." Spy told him matter-of-factly, "I 'ate your muzzer. She eez loud, obnoxious, _rude_…just like _someone_ I 'appen to know." Spy, of course, lived to provoke ill feelings with the kid. He wasn't a huge fan of him, though admittedly, didn't quite hate him as much as the Sniper.

The Scout took the bait and threw his handful of broken glass down and readied his fists. "You insultin' my Mah?" The kid's eyes narrowed, "I sweah to God, I will kill you if you say one moah word about my muthuh."

The Spy took another long drag of his cigarette and assessed the situation. Was it worth getting into a fight over the RED Scout's Mother? Well, no. He didn't like her at all, and he didn't like Scout, but he didn't want to start a fight and get blood on his suit. It just wasn't worth the effort. He smirked at the thought of pounding the kid into the glass carpet beneath his feet, which seemed to anger Scout more. "You wanna fight, Frenchie?" Scout was ready for a battle.

Without another word, Spy cloaked and slid off. "Fine!" Scout called after him, "Run, yuh big French sissy! I'da killed yuh anyways!"

It was doubtful, but still. Couldn't be too careful sometimes.

/

It was Monday, July 4. God help the sorry fool who complained about the American holiday in front of Soldier. The only good thing, in Spy's opinion, was that they had a ceasefire to celebrate the holiday. The Scout's mother showed up early that morning and commenced being her normal, annoying self. Spy really didn't like this woman. And it seemed she liked pretty much everyone but him.

"Oh Engie, yuh such a smawt guy!" RED Scout's mom laughed, her shrill cackle pierced through the air, "I coulda sworn thuh crawk pot was workin' thuh uthuh day!" Engie just chuckled and smiled modestly, as was his nature,

"Aw, shucks, t'weren't nothin' to fix it, Ma'am." She cackled again, ugh, it was hard for Spy to bear. He didn't even know why he bothered coming out of his room today. Last July 4th was just awful. The food was, eh, okay, but having to sit around watching everyone get wasted off of cheap, American beer was just terrible. And then something went wrong with the fireworks and they were exploding until 2AM. Spy needed his beauty sleep, and if anyone asked, he would have said everyone else needed it twice as bad.

"I _do_ hope you brought ribs for our nation's glorious celebration!" Soldier barked as he marched into the cafeteria.

"Yuh darn right I did, Mistuh." She replied, giving a wink in his direction. Ugh, nasty. This woman was just sick. The Soldier was perfectly happy with this answer, though hung over her shoulder as she prepared them to ensure they came out perfectly.

"If it's one thing I know for sure, it's ribs. And fighting." Soldier commented.

Spy thought perhaps lounging around in the cafeteria wasn't in his best interest. Sure, it was pretty funny when a burner caught fire and part of the woman's hair went up in flames, but otherwise it was boring around there. Now that the Pyro was hanging around in case anything else went up in flames, it would probably turn into some weird fiasco. Scout was running his mouth worse than usual and crying out for attention his mom wouldn't give him. She was, however, bending over backwards for the Soldier.

"He's such a nice guy!" Scout's mom told her son when he asked why he was paying Soldier more attention than himself. "I sure love a guy who loves his country."

That did it. Spy was out of there. He passed by Demoman who was still a bit charred from the explosion a few days ago. "Oy, yuh got ribs I 'eer?" Demo shouted across the room, to with Soldier confirmed, and the two rejoiced.

Sniper was out on the deck, surveying the BLU's base across the way. He was drinking his morning coffee, and leaning against a beam. "Mornin'." Sniper inclined his head, which was quite a bit friendlier than usual. "Noice 'avin' a woman round th'place I figure. Sh'made a pot o coffee afore I even got up. Tastes better n'usual." He was especially talkative this morning too, which was also quite unlike him. The foolish man just couldn't see the woman for who she really was. An annoying pest!

"I do not see why everyone likes 'er." Spy commented, "She eez loud, tells terrible jokes, and 'as awful cooking skills." Here he lied just to have a third thing to say. All in all, she was actually a great cook, and he hated to admit it. He would have rather jumped off the cliff in Double Cross than admit he liked anything about this woman, honestly.

"Well." Sniper shrugged and took another sip of his coffee, "S'pose we all 'ave our opinions." He walked off, leaving Spy to stew in his own hateful thoughts about the woman below.

He didn't know exactly why she acted so passive aggressively around him. The fact that he got away clean this morning was because he stayed far away, out of immediate sight. She visited on most American holidays, and even sometimes before breaks. She usually stayed for a few hours, cooked and talked, and then hopped a train home. He didn't know when she started acting so awful to him or when he started making fun of her weight within earshot, but it happened. She always gave him the smallest cut of meat, the fattiest steak, the bottom of the pot, or the sugariest drink.

Whatever though, she was still fat anyway.

As he went to pull another cigarette from his pocket he spied something across the way, on the seemingly deserted BLU base. It was blue and curvy and strolled across the BLU deck like it owned the place. He dove behind a wall and fumbled around in his pocket for his watch. "Mah, whaddya doin' out on thuh decks!" He heard the enemy Scout call. Damn, his voice carried far. Spy cloaked and moved around the corner to get a closer look, "What if thuh enemy was out there, huh? I can't be losin' thuh only mothuh I got!"

"Oh, sweetie." Her angelic voice was faint, but Spy craned his neck out to pick it up, "I was told you was in a ceasefiah. I don't think yuh enemies uh gunna kill me anyways. No point, y'know?" Her voice diminished as Scout pulled her back into the base.

"Geez Mah, yuh just need to practice some freakin' caution!" And that was all that the Spy heard before all was silent again. He couldn't believe it! Well, yes, actually, he could. His BLU beauty was here—within walking distance! It wouldn't hurt if he got a closer look, right? Maybe if he just cloaked and snuck over there without killing anything it would be okay. It _was_ a ceasefire after all. Technically he shouldn't be over there. Well, maybe if he was extra careful it would be fine.

Perhaps later.

For now, he had to deal with the RED Scout's mother. It was going to be a long Fourth of July.

/

**A/N**: I want to set straight the differences I see in BLU/RED Scout's Mom. Basically, the only difference is voice, and possibly hobbies. BLU Scout's Mom has the heavy Boston accent with a serious nasal tone to it, and RED Scout's mom has the heavy Boston accent without the nasally tone. But that's just me. And for the record, no, RED Scout's mom is NOT fat. Spy just really doesn't get along with or like her. Weird, I suppose. I also apologize for the sudden lack of humor (or attempt at humor) and I haven't given up, I just wanted to move the story along before I forgot about it. Also I apologize for this long winded Author's Note.


	3. Chapter 3

"Okay, who wants uh hawt dawg?" The RED Scout's mother shouted across the cafeteria as the nine mercenaries gathered to eat. There was pushing and shoving as Soldier and Demoman fought for the biggest rack of ribs on the table. The Scout nearly toppled Heavy's plate, loaded high with burgers and potato salad, which made him shout. The noise level was immense, as usual.

"Oy! S'ere more coffee?" Sniper yelled from his corner and waved his mug. The woman had just set down her tray of those awful hot dog _things_ and trotted off to grab the coffee pot after giving an affirmative. Spy sighed heavily causing smoke to cloud about his head. As he reached for some macaroni salad, the Pyro was already setting his lunch on fire. Everything had to be burnt to a crisp with that guy.

"Oh Pyro, sweetie, I made some extruh well done burguhs fuh yuh!" The ridiculous woman called from the kitchen, "I even made some crispy hawt dawgs!" But, alas, it was too late. A table was already on fire, and the Pyro was rocking out on his axe. The thing about the cafeteria was that there were no smoke alarms. Usually everyone just waited until the fire became something of a hassle, and then hoses and buckets were pulled out. Hell, sometimes they just let the base burn to the ground. It's not like Mann Co. was broke.

Amidst the smoke, Spy managed to grab some salad and a burger, and sat down in his corner, away from the general population. It was absolutely antisocial of him, and he found that was just fine for the time being. Today wasn't a day he wanted to be bothered. Not with _her_ around.

She was too resourceful, though, and damn did that annoy him. Within minutes she had the fire sorted out. And where the hell did she pull that bucket of water from? She even wiped the soot off of Pyro's mask, gave him a kiss on the head (gag!) and cut up his hot dog into bite-sized pieces.

It was disgusting watching this woman work. Spy couldn't help but feel ill. If her cheery attitude were to continue, he'd have to excuse himself to go vomit. Illness aside, he hadn't eaten all day, and it was possible that the sick feeling was a direct cause of that. Grudgingly he took a bite of the macaroni salad and deemed it at least edible. He didn't want to admit it was actually pretty good. "I hope everyone is enjoyin' thuh food." Scout's mother called out as she wrapped a napkin around her son's neck. He complained audibly about it.

"Dis is GOOD!" Heavy replied in his fashion, mouth full of food. "Is delicious! Sasha would like." As compliments were handed out, Spy could swear he saw the woman's head inflate. "Do not feed 'er damn ego." He muttered into his cup. As if on cue, she turned to him, and their eyes met. Icy glares were exchanged. Everyone knew the two were on bad terms, and they quieted in anticipation of an argument.

"Well?" She asked flatly, "Is it to yuh likin', yuh highness?" She sneered at him. The insufferable woman actually _sneered_ at him.

All eyes were on him as he dabbed the corners of his mouth and cleared his throat. His vision narrowed on the Scout's ridiculous mother. "I 'ave witnessed monkeys prepare better food zan zis _merde_, Madame." He sneered back just to spite her even more. She, however, looked plain furious.

"Mustn't be too bad," She hissed, "since yuh eatin' it."

"Like I 'ave a choice." He scoffed

"Yuh could stahve like my kids do when they don't like somethin'!" Her voice grew louder, and in the silence of the cafeteria, it seemed almost deafening.

"Per'aps you should do zat for yourself sometime, you _fat cow_." And then all hell broke loose. It always happened when he insulted her weight.

"_What did yuh say? What did yuh just say tuh me?"_

"Hey, don't be insultin' my mothuh yuh French faggot!"

"Sneaky Man insult nice lady! Do not like!" All at once people stood, to either attack or stop a would-be attacker. The only one who got near Spy, was the Scout's mother. Within seconds she had a carving knife and held it at the ready like one who had been trained in self defense.

"What is ziz, now?" Spy couldn't help but let out a laugh, "_You _are going to attack _me?_ Ha!" His own butterfly knife twirled out and he stood at the ready, "Well zen, _ma_ _cherie, _come at me." He taunted her, begging her to take a stab. She was mad, he could see, but her temper wasn't that short. It was all for show. Behind her, her son was being held back, or rather choked, by the Heavy. It only took two fingers around his collar and he couldn't break free. The Pyro was trying to set things on fire, amidst the chaos. Medic was yelling at everyone to sit down and shut up.

She didn't do anything. Just told him to leave. "Leave befoah I lodge this in yuh throat, yuh yelluh-bellied French asshole!" Spy chuckled as he cloaked,

"Zen I take my leave. Until next time, my dear fat cow." He made for the exit, leaving behind him a group of arguing mercenaries and a very angry mother.

/

It was getting late in the afternoon, and the RED Spy was hungry. He hadn't eaten much lunch, and it was catching up to him. He was hanging out around a cozy corner of the building, out of the way of the rain. It began drizzling a few minutes prior, forcing him to find shelter. He found he was within earshot of the Scout's mother, who had been packing to leave.

"Don't be listening to that French Maggot, Ma'am. He's plain unpatriotic. Doesn't know a bee-utiful woman when he sees one." _Mon Dieu_, was that the Soldier trying to lay down the moves on—UGH. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to give him kitchen duty for the next 200 days because of his disrespect to our country, food, and women." Well, there went Spy's free time right out the window.

The woman's laugh was just so unbearable it hurt, "Oh Soldier, yuh such a nice man."

"That I am, Ma'am. You sure you don't want to stay another day? Maybe make some more ribs? Or some ribs? Or ribs are fine."

"Well, I'd love tuh stay, but the fightin' resumes tomorruh and I can't be all caught up in that. Plus Spy makes it obvious that he doesn't want me around. So I'll be on my way." Oh good, she caught on to all of his subtle hints. The voices were getting quieter as they walked away, so he figured it would be a fine time to sneak on over to the kitchen. He took the long way, walking over the deck, when he heard that voice again.

"Oh I hate to be leavin', yuh all such a riot." That laugh. It was the laugh of an angel. His Bostonian Babe.

Forget this, he wanted to check out what was going on over there. It had to be marginally better than this crummy old base. Hell, ten steps and he'd be on the BLU side. Better be quick though, those sentries could sniff out enemies a mile away. Without cloaks.

So, he decided to take a walk on the wild side. He cloaked and jumped off the porch, landing in front of the bridge connecting the bases. This was it. The moment of truth. No one had bothered sneaking around another base on a day off before. Not that he could remember. It wasn't worth it. They weren't paid on days off, and they weren't paid for the body count on days off. Intel wasn't even on the base on days off. So he took a breath and crossed the rickety old bridge, praying to God it wouldn't set off that damn alarm.

He made it across without a problem. So far, so good. Spy only wished he knew why he was doing this. Had his life really become that boring?

The answer was yes.

The base was cold. The industrial steel walls were very unwelcome to him, but he continued on through the enemy territory. The sentries beeped as they scouted for enemies, and he snuck past them as he normally did. There was no need for a sentry, but he figured the BLU Engineer built them just for the hell of it. That's what the RED Engineer did, anyway.

He heard her again. She was telling her son to stop being a pain in the ass and help clean up the kitchen. The BLU Demoman was laughing and slurring his words as the kid was scolded by his mother. He took the stairs and found her clearing a table with Fourth of July hats and confetti. The BLU Demo was sitting on a box nearby, demanding that someone go find his eye for him. The BLU Scout was complaining about having to do work. Everyone else seemed to be doing his own thing elsewhere in the base.

But she was there, right in front of him. Still curvy and beautiful. It was strange, this attraction he had to her. She was the enemy. Well, the mother of the enemy. One of the enemy. That still, by association, made her the enemy.

She turned for a moment, and only then he could see how delicately her bob curved around her heart-shaped face.

All right, so he thought she was good looking. So what, right? Enemies could be good looking. He had to admit, the BLU Spy had a pretty good fashion sense. Maybe not quite up to his level of sharp, but still pretty good. That didn't mean he liked him or anything. He mused as he watched her struggle to fold the table back together.

"Well hey there, Ma'am, y'all need a bit of a hand with that there table?" Spy's thoughts were suddenly cut off by the BLU Engineer. Where the heck did he come from!

"Oh, certainly, yeah!" The BLU Scout's mother smiled and backed away from the offending table. Within a jiff it was folded and thrown into a closet. "Thank you so much, yuh so helpful." She said gratefully, then turned an eye to her son who was picking his ear with a pinky, "Unlike a certain son uh mine."

"Wut?" The BLU Scout looked over in a moment of confusion, but was ignored as the Engineer conversed with his mother.

"Well I think I aughtta be goin'. I left uh tray uh cookies on thuh countuh in thuh cafuhteria." She paused a moment, "And I guess that's it! I'll go grab my bags and I'll be off."

"Well Ma'am, I have to say it's been a pleasure as always. Always nice to have a good home-cooked meal 'round 'ere." The BLU Engineer held out a hand, which the woman shook.

"It's been fun, as always." She said as the two headed for the stairs. Spy sidestepped them as not to blow his cover. His cloak was about to run out. "I just wish that Snipuh wouldn't be so difficult. Oh, and I forgot tuh tell Medic that I loved his wife's recipe fuh that cranberry kuchen." He started to lose sight and sound of them, but it didn't matter. He had bigger issues. His cloak was done for and he had to wait for it to reload. Damn.

He figured this was it. He'd be killed without respawn and that was the end of the line. If the BLU Demoman woke up from his drunken stupor and found him, he'd be done for. He didn't even have a disguise on him. Today just wasn't a good day.

As if on cue he heard voices coming from behind him. It sounded like the BLU Heavy and the BLU Sniper. Sprinting forward was the best option. He thought he knew the base pretty well, but took a wrong turn and ended up in the BLU cafeteria. He couldn't hear the voices anymore and figured, since he was here, why not sample just a couple of those cookies…

Ten cookies later he was still shoving them down his throat, thanking his maker that something so delicious was set out. It could have been the hunger, or perhaps because someone with skills had prepared something delicious. Or because he didn't hate her.

"I just need tuh grab my pan and I'll be outtuh here!" That voice. Oh crap, that voice. He scrambled for his watch. Just another minute. Just one more minute and he could—

"Oh—who—What in Gawd's name ah yuh doin'?" He looked up and locked eyes with the cool BLU beauty, who now wore an expression of both fright and bewilderment. He must have looked like a sorry sight. The cookie hanging out of his mouth snapped in half and shattered on the linoleum floor. There was a brief silence during which the BLU Scout's mother started to slowly back away, and Spy just stared wide-eyed, waiting for her to call for help, cookie in mid-chew.

"Yo, Mah! Yuh get dat pan yet?" BLU Scout called from somewhere, and his mother didn't respond. Was she waiting to be killed?

It didn't matter. The device was ready. With one swift movement he grabbed about five more cookies, waved a goodbye to her and cloaked. Spy didn't think he'd ever run so fast. He passed the BLU Scout who commented about it being too damn drafty in the base, and why didn't his mom get that pan yet, and hey, who ate all the freaking cookies!

Getting out wasn't a problem. No one was around. His own base was relatively quiet, save for RED Scout showing off the new shoes his mom gave him before she left. "Ain't they sweet?" He gloated to no one in particular. No one particularly cared. Spy was passing when the Scout was really getting annoying. "Yo, yo, Frenchie, wait up, I still have to kick yuh ass fuh earliuh! And what the hell, where did you get _cookies?_"

If only cloaks could last forever.

/

AN: Sorry for the wait, I hadn't planned on the story much past chapter two. But I'm here at school now and I'll work on this as much as possible. Perhaps an artwork to go with it.


	4. Chapter 4

The remainder of July was spent in the confines of 2Fort, much to Spy's dismay. The fort only burnt down once, and it caused a delay of about a week. Strangely, there hadn't been any fallout from his little visit to the enemy side. The REDs captured the BLU intelligence about 10 times, and the BLUs probably had the same amount of luck. If there was one thing that bothered Spy, as well as many on the team, it was capturing Intels. The Scout would zoom on over to the opposing side, and sometimes bring it back and secure it in the home Intel base. That was fine and dandy, but could anyone take a look inside the briefcase? No.

"It's not under our jurisdiction!" Soldier would bark, "Orders from the top tell us strictly NOT to tamper. With. The. _Intel_." Each word by the end of his sentence would be emphasized with a poke in the chest. A rather hard, uncomfortable poke. It didn't matter what Mann Co. said, Spy figured he was good enough to crack the briefcase code and take a little peek.

Well, he figured he could, but in the end, the BLU intel won. It seemed no manner of combination worked. Was the damn thing super glued shut? Until that time, RED Spy never specifically thought about searching through his own Intel briefcase. It was the stuff he needed to protect, and who cared, as long as he was protecting it, right? It dawned on him that he didn't even know the code for his own intel. "Stop prying into other people's business, Frenchie!" Was Soldier's remark to when Spy casually inquired about the briefcase code, "If I _knew_ I still wouldn't tell you." A salute signaled that Soldier would say no more.

Prying the case open by force wouldn't do. There wasn't time for that. It seemed every time the intel was secure, it would be a matter of time before the BLUs found a loophole in the defense and grabbed the RED intel (as well as their own). RED Spy couldn't say for sure, but knowing the BLU Spy (or what little he did know), he had probably tried opening the intels as well. The success rate was undoubtedly the same. After all, Spy knew that he was the best spy around, and no lowly BLU would ever best him.

Not one.

Well, what did it matter now? August was upon them and intels were to be forgotten in favor of one lone plot of land in the middle of the alpine. Viaduct. Going from an uncomfortable heat to a bitter cold climate was not something that Spy desperately wanted to do at the moment. Not only that, but beating the crap out of each other over ten square feet of land was outright asinine. There was little he could do about it.

The train rides were always long and boring. Sometimes something would catch fire, or an arm wrestling match would get out of control and seats would be pried from their fastenings and thrown violently. Today though, everything was calm. The Heavy was dozing as he cuddled his gun. Once in a while the train would jostle and he would wake up with a snort, only to fall back asleep seconds later. The Scout was tossing his baseball up and catching it, which was the least hyper thing he had done all week. The Pyro was lighting matches and watching them burn, but he often did that. Engineer was reading a book. Sniper was asleep—when he wasn't getting up to pee. Spy had counted about five times since they started, and they'd hardly been traveling 40 minutes. The Medic was absentmindedly staring out the window at the scenery. Too bad for him, there wasn't much to see. The Demoman had a case of explosives at his feet. He was looking at plans for the casings. Once in a while a few bombs would drop from the precariously high piled box and roll around. Spy had gotten used to expecting death at any moment and it hardly bothered him anymore. The Soldier was sitting quietly, staring straight forward at nothing, while holding his shovel at the ready.

With nothing else to observe, Spy sighed inwardly and turned to his notebook. He skipped the doodles, the notes on teammates, the ramblings and grocery lists. He was looking for specific entries. Entries about her. He could still see her, fresh in his mind, from the unplanned encounter. Expression full of curiosity and confusion. Possibly anger that someone would singlehandedly wipe out an entire plate of baked goods without a second thought to their dinner.

_Enjoys cheap milk chocolate with almonds. Eats entire bar. Still beautiful._

As he read the line he could still see her sitting down in front of the television, watching her favorite soap opera, Guiding Light, and chewing on the half opened bar. She never missed that show, it was always at 12:45 and ran for 15 minutes.

_Spends two hours on hair, make-up, and nails each morning. Sometimes falls asleep with make-up on._

Indeed, her pillows were covered in stains from mascara and blush and whatever else women slapped on their faces. In Spy's humble opinion, she didn't _need_ make-up. To him, she was naturally beautiful…though the make-up did accentuate her delicate features.

_Walks everywhere. Hips sway beautifully as she parades down the street in her prettiest heels. Suffers from gigantic bunions._

Perhaps heels were not the best choice of footwear to be wearing on a daily basis. Sure, Spy could see they made her look drop dead gorgeous, but sometimes it was obvious they were killing her. Nonetheless, she could wear heels with ten times the grace of that big fat cow the RED Scout called a mother.

Thinking of the RED Scout's cow-mother put a bad taste in Spy's mouth. It would only be a matter of months before she reared her ugly head again. Emphasis on ugly. He figured he would rather be backstabbed a hundred times rather than see that woman.

_Likes dogs, despises semi-auto weapons._

Her gun cabinet had a shockingly high amount of pump, break, and lever action rifles and shotguns. At first Spy assumed they belonged to her ex husband (or, late husband? He never did find out much about him. He didn't look very hard for information of that nature though.) Upon further examination, and witnessing her practice on her make-shift shooting range in her basement, the answer was clear. She knew about guns, and she knew how to shoot them. She didn't have the deadly accuracy of a sniper, and she wasn't fast at reloading like a scout. She could shoot though, and that by itself was an interesting quality Spy did not intend to find in a modern housewife living in Boston.

_Hates shaving, loves pantyhose. _

It was almost darling how she sometimes just outright refused to shave her legs, and instead tossed on a pair of dark pantyhose to cover the stubble. He wasn't sure if it was laziness or unwillingness to conform. The U.S. certainly had a way with pushing the removal of body hair. It made for lovely complaint fodder when she called up a friend.

Though an hour on the subject of shaving was one that bored him to tears.

_Despairs about her figure. Often complains audibly to her friends about __everything__._

Perhaps baseball was one of her only other hobbies aside from, well, shopping, guns, and complaining. She often searched for ticket prices among the daily paper, and being the frugal type, just shook her head at the steep .75 cent price for bleachers. Unless she was really looking at the box seats. Even Spy wouldn't pay $10 for a seat up there, but what did he know? Baseball really wasn't his thing. Complaining wasn't, either. Not to other people, anyway.

He paused to look out the window to get an idea of where the train was. The snow was starting to show on trees in the distance, so it would only be a matter of time. Spy would only have the day to get unpacked and situated in his bunk. The cold, dreary, icicle-spiked bunk. It was places like this that the Pyro's unrivaled love for fire was actually quite welcome. It was the only way to thaw the blankets.

He decided to just relax until the train pulled into the station, and with a suppressed yawn, stretched out and relaxed into the hard cased cushion.

/

"According to zis memo, ve haff ein break in a veek." The Medic announced in a very non committal manner once everyone had slunk into the cramped cafeteria for a hot drink.

"How long's it gunna last?" The Engineer asked as he fiddled with a broken coffee pot. For the time, hot chocolate or tea had to suffice.

"It seems to be about…" Medic trailed off as he counted the days in his head. Little did others know, but he was actually awful with numbers. Or perhaps he overdosed Spy's sleep medication that one time just to see what would happen. Medic seemed harmless, but he was just another kook. Another crazy. Another weirdo. "Ah. Fife days. Starting next Monday."

Five days. Five days Spy definitely didn't want to spend trapped here in the cold. It was August for crying out loud! Perhaps Mann Co. thought they were doing their mercenaries a favor by transporting them somewhere far away from the ungodly heat of mid-summer, but this was just awful.

"Oy, y'got th' coffee pot fixed yet?" Sniper, as usual, caught up in his own little world, disregarded the break and bothered the Engineer instead.

"Well, not yet." Engineer scratched his helmetless head with the end of his wrench. "Perhaps a coupla whacks'll straighten 'er out." And thus, the earsplitting whacking began, over which you could barely hear Sniper mumble something about "bloody hot chocolate."

Spy couldn't say the rest of the day was all that uneventful, since he was stuck on kitchen duty for about 172 more days according to Soldier. Pans and plates, cutlery and food, all had to be double defrosted, and it took a whole lot more than a warm hug to get rid of all that ice. Mann Co. was cheap in that they left off any heating devices when the bases weren't used, and starting them up again was no easy task. Someone always had to fix the burst pipes as well, so it was a wonder they were actually saving money this way.

The thought of possibly traveling back to Boston kept Spy going. He figured taking another trip wasn't out of the question. He had the means to travel. He found something that caught his full attention, and he wanted to know more about it. He wondered, perhaps, if he should introduce himself sometime. Well, maybe talk to her in person, but anonymously. Take on a disguise. Like a spy would do. Thankfully, he _was_ a spy. If he wasn't, it would be so much more complicated.

As the day was winding down to a close, sugar rushes were wearing off and energy was depleting. All nine of them gathered around the fire, fueled by a number of defrosted crates, broken chairs, and much to Spy's confusion, empty plastic water jugs. The food was hot, and the drinks could burn the teeth right out of your mouth. Just how everyone liked it. Dinner was coupled with stories of Scotland, downtown Boston, and 'the old country.' Laughs were had, of course, since all nine mercenaries shared a good sense of humor that kept them in good spirits during the roughest times. For the time being, it seemed differences were put aside, if only for the night. Scout had probably forgotten Spy's ill-meaning retorts to his beloved mother, and even joked and laughed with him. The Engineer played a soft tune on his guitar that eventually broke down into a rousing dance number.

In the back of his head, Spy still felt detached from it all. It wasn't that he was trying to be anti social for once, or that he was the most hated on the team. They all tolerated each other in a more or less equal fashion. Even the Sniper, who was the most silent, was blabbering on about the wild outback and a kangaroo that once stole his shades. The Pyro hudda-hudda'd and roared with muffled laughter the entire time. But Spy was relatively quiet for such a time as this. Usually he would be cracking jokes and throwing sarcastic comments, as was his nature. It was that BLU babe he just couldn't get off his mind.

She was like a sickness. A disease. She infected him and he either needed to give in or get rid of her. What bothered him most was that there wasn't a speck of hatred for her. Not one bit. He'd seen her shooting range, and the targets were all covered in the glorious color RED. He'd seen her turn her nose to perfectly polite people because they wore red. Her loyalty to BLU was definitely deep. The only red thing she seemed to stand was Boston's baseball team. And even then, she had commented once about how the color just didn't fit the spirit of Boston at all. Whatever that meant.

There were many reasons he should have hated her, or disliked her at the very least, and forgotten about her. As beautiful as she was, as graceful and deadly, she was still just another woman. A mother, in fact. A single mother with baggage and a bit of cellulite on her thighs.

There was something about her. Something intriguing and different. He often thought it was the boredom that made him think about her, but that couldn't be it. And how would she react if she ever met him in real life? Would she turn away, attack, ignore? The thought made his heart sink a little, which was something he hadn't felt in a very long time. The last time he had felt it was after rejection. But he knew that this wasn't love. This was different. So why was his heart sinking at these thoughts?

It was just morbid curiosity. That was all. He sipped his tea quietly as he mulled over it in his head. Just curiosity. Besides, she was still in contact with the enemy. She even made trips to visit them. Now he she really was more of an interest to track. She could be conspiring with them! And then he would have more information on the rest of the team! Yes! So it was settled, he'd follow her just in case she was meeting with any BLU bastards and he'd get the low-down on them too. Perfect.

It was a little silly to use it as an excuse, even he knew. But he needed one. If not for himself, then for his credibility. Who would believe he was spying on a single housewife for BLU team information? Who would believe it was merely…curiosity?

Few people. Spy figured not one person. Not even he believed it.

That night he dreamt of ships, lobster, and the color blue.

/

A.N: I was so excited about the comments I received that I started working on another part right away. A thing about Medic's accent. I've been trying to avoid it because, even though I grew up among a German accent for nearly my entire life, I just couldn't seem to grasp it in text. My Oma sometimes made her 'v's sound like 'f's, but I worry it doesn't seem right in text.


	5. Chapter 5

The cold was really getting to Spy, but it was getting to everyone. Scout's refusal to wear gloves was getting him dangerously close to frostbite. He obliged on the coldest days, of course, not wanted to endure a shot from Medic's heaviest needle. "Zhere iss a vhay to giff ein painless shot, ja. But for zat little idiot? NEIN." The Medic wasn't Scout's biggest fan. Spy figured it was because the whelp had relentless flirted with his (admittedly, good-looking) wife when she visited for the first and last time a few months ago. The Scout wasn't the brightest bulb of the bunch and couldn't take a hint. Not even a hint in the form of a flaming bonesaw in his shoulder.

"So…y'still on fuh dinnuh…latuh…?" Were the Scout's last words to Medic's horrified wife before he passed out from the lack of blood. The woman left without so much as a second glance back, and Medic was unhappy for the remainder of the time spent in Dustbowl.

The promised break started tomorrow, though, and Spy couldn't be more relieved. The entire week had been a mess. The teams were fighting so close to one another that it almost always ended up in a melee fight. The BLU Spy really seemed out for him, and the painful backstab was felt more than once. Axes, shovels, bats and boxing gloves, all were flying and turning the once pristine white snow into a bloody red mess. Even the icicles were snapping off buildings and impaling the unaware. (Definitely not Spy though. He was far too observant for that. Really.) The Medics didn't even have time to heal before they were killed. Everyone was dying left and right. Engineers couldn't stop to build defenses, and when they attempted, someone lobbed their heads off and destroyed their buildings. Body parts were everywhere, taking too long to disintegrate away. No one had been able to claim the point yet, and that was truly upsetting.

"Hrud huh rig hroffhee?" The familiar mumble of the Pyro woke Spy up from his late afternoon daydream-smoke-break combo. He was holding two cups of coffee, one of which extended toward Spy and threatened to spill on his suit.

"Eh, _oui_, zank you." He quickly took it before anything disastrous happened to his freshly cleaned slacks. The Pyro then plopped himself down on a crate and swung his legs as he sipped his hot drink through a straw. Spy took a drag from his cigarette and for the most part, ignored his teammate. That is, until he started talking.

"Hrud huu hringh ohhhrake?" Spy had to think about it. What would he say? That he was skipping on over to the East Coast to check out a single mother of eight? Nope.

"Per'aps just a bit ov light travel." He replied. The Pyro seemed satisfied with that answer and said something along the lines of going to the beach in search of jaws. Though why the crazy little fire man would look at people's jawlines was beyond Spy, and he really didn't want to ask. "Vell zat eez….nice." He said with a very shaky finality and gulped down the bitter coffee. The Pyro mumbled in agreement.

He was a strange guy, that was for sure. But it was nice to know someone was thinking of you enough to bring out hot coffee on a cold night. The thought was just too cheery for a miserable Spy, so he headed in without much of a goodbye. He had to prepare himself anyway. The trip to Boston would be a long one, and he didn't have that kind of time to waste.

/

The traveling had been hectic. The train out of Viaduct had been late, and everyone was grumpy by the time it left. Scout wouldn't shut up the entire ride back and Demoman gave him a black eye. "Oy, maybe I take it oot next taym, and then we see 'oo the oogly cyclops is, eh?" The threat on his eye left Scout relatively speechless for at least five minutes. It may as well have been a world record.

The train station was crowded and hot, and hailing a cab was difficult. The driver swerved all over the road and knocked back a bottle of schnapps while smoking a cigar. By the time they reached the airport, Spy was feeling rather ill and just wanted to get the flight over with. There were plenty of businessmen and only two or three families milling around. Plenty of others were watching the planes come and go while sipping lemonade. $75 for a ticket was highway robbery, but he couldn't argue. Trains took too long, and he was anxious. It was strange to feel so anxious about something so trivial. This wasn't like last time. Last time he took about five trains and didn't care when he arrived. Now it was crucial to get every spare minute.

Time was wasted trying to find the board listing all the gates, and by the time he found which gate he was at, he had to run over about five kids to get there before his plane left.

"Ah, just in time, Sir." The scantily clad airline stewardess happily took his ticket and tossed his bag rather carelessly with the other luggage. "Please enjoy your flight."

His seat was located between two rather obnoxious businessmen who only wanted to talk about the New York Stock Exchange, women, and politics. Spy smoked straight through three packs of cigarettes the entire flight, and didn't bother stopping for dinner. He smoked in between chews of his somewhat tasteless airline food. At one point one of the men complained and asked him to calm down on the smoking. The look Spy gave him would have probably been enough, but the mother sitting behind him took a long drag from her cigar before telling the man to shove it.  
>"Ain't like it's illegal or anything." She told him.<p>

Thankfully it wasn't, or who knows how he'd have made this flight. He didn't want to think about it. The most exciting and memorable point in the flight was catching a full view of the airline stewardess's panties as she tried to pull someone's carry on bag from the overhead. Those skirts were too damn short. And Spy approved.

Finding his luggage was another ordeal, and it looked like it had been rifled through a bit. Great. Well, hopefully all his clothes were still in there at least.

The cab he hailed out of the airport smelled like puke and smelly socks. The driver was incredibly crabby and made the entire drive as unpleasant as possible in the 90 degree heat. With the heat, the swerving, the nerves, and the smelly cigars, Spy thought he'd puke just like obvious countless before him. If only someone had cleaned this cab floor!

He made it to the hotel in one piece, somehow. After paying the obnoxious cabbie, who had the gall to complain about the serious lack of tip, Spy checked into his room and collapsed on his bed.

Now what? Did he sneak over to her place and just spy like he did a month and a half ago? Did he knock on her door and beg to talk to her? A well thought out plan would have been nice, but nothing had seemed reliable.

What was he doing? Sitting here and worrying? He was the Spy! The suave French lady-killer. American women couldn't _resist_ his sexy accent. And his profession? Being mysterious made him even sexier! She'd fall for him, no doubt. Yup. It would be almost too easy. Like taking candy from a baby, or a prosthetic leg from a cripple.

With newfound energy, RED Spy shot out of his bed and prepared to meet her. A quick fumble through his notes told him she would probably be hanging around that little café if she were done with her shopping. He checked the mirror for a quick once-over. Mask was straight, manly stubble was stubbly, tie was nice, shoes polished…_parfait!_

With a spring in his step, and a nervous beat in his heart, he left the hotel in search of the BLU beauty.

/

There she was. Sitting outside the café under an umbrella, enjoying her cheap coffee and basking in the cooling sea breeze. Her legs were curled neatly under her seat and her purse dangled from the back of her chair. As she sipped her beverage, she curled a lock of hair behind her ear. She would have looked perfect if she had sported any other color.

Suddenly going out in the open without a disguise _was_ a bit rash. She knew who he was; she'd seen him before. She knew he was a spy, no doubt. Yes. Perhaps this was the wrong way.

He had with him the disguise kit, but no disguises seemed right for this. He didn't want to take on the Scout's disguise again. Not at all. Perhaps it was time for some ingenuity. On the back of a demoman disguise he drew a sloppy face of a regular old businessman. A blue marker highlighted some bits of tie. Nice. Yup. It was bound to work. There was no turning back now, so with a deep breath he slipped on the new mask and swayed across the street to introduce himself.

She glanced up as he neared, and noticing the blue in his wardrobe, gave a tiny smile before turning away. He stopped by her table, which made her look up again. "Er, hello? Do I, uh, know yuh?" Her eyebrows scrunched together as she undoubtedly tried to remember seeing this man Spy had literally made up on the spot.

"Well, I wouldn't say you know me." Spy began, with no accent in particular. "I've seen you around. Shopping, walking…I've never quite had the courage to approach you, but I found myself compelled by your b—"

"Woah, woah, woah." The BLU babe cut him off with a hand, "Hold it right there mistuh. I can see where this is goin', and I ain't likin' it. Take a hike." She jabbed a thumb to her left and turned away quite suddenly.

"B-but," Spy was caught off guard by her unexpected hostility toward his attempted compliment, "You won't even give me a chance?"

"I wouldn't give yuh thuh time uh day if yuh asked."

"This is hardly fair." He protested, "You haven't even gotten to know me and you've shot me down before I could get a word in edgewise."

"Look, I really don't wanna be talkin' tuh guys that come outta nowhere sayin' they was watchin' me shop." She glared out of the corner of her eye and stealthily reached for her handbag. Spy could see it though. "So quit buggin' me."

"Fine." He breathed, "But madam, you should know I was only paying you a respectful compliment." He took a step back as her hand grew ever closer to her bag. Either she was reaching to protect it or she was reaching for a weapon. Better not take a chance, "You're a beautiful woman, and I'm not ashamed to proclaim it." Her expression was hard to define. Perhaps it resembled the confusion she had when she caught him swiping cookies. There was a bit of tiredness to it, as if she'd heard it before.

"Look, bub." She eased away from her purse and took on a more comfortable posture, "There ain't no reason tuh go through yuh whole spiel. I'm spoken fuh."

"The lack of ring says otherwise." Spy took a chance, but upon hearing of a possible relationship, his heart began to sink again. There was no way! He hadn't seen any men aside from her son the last time, and she only talked with her female friends.

She hid her hand swiftly, and replied, "One doesn't need uh ring if they 'uh in a plain old relationship with someone else." He never expected so much resistance. Not from her. He could see her crossed leg bobbing nervously. Jitteriness didn't usually happen if someone were telling the truth.

"Well that's too bad." Spy decided to try another tactic, "But not unrealistic. A woman as fine as yourself would obviously be spoken for." She rolled her eyes and turned her head away from him, "As a gentleman, I wouldn't dare impose on a relationship. I'll take my leave. Perhaps we'll see each other again." With that he began to walk off, but she called for him to stop.

"Hey. What's yuh name, mistuh?" She didn't look terribly upset to see him go, she didn't look angry, nor did she look any form of happy. Spy smirked at the last-moment interest.

"Perhaps that's for another time. Until then, _adieu_. "

The walk back to the hotel was long and lonely. What did he expect? That it would all go without a hitch? She would instantly accept him and grace him with a conversation?

Well, yes actually. He'd never, ever had a problem chatting up a woman. Even particularly difficult ones he had been able to free from their protective shell. He never cared much about those women, though. This one, however, would need a little more strategy. To her, he was just a man. Not a spy, not a RED team member. Just a man. How _did_ he look anyway?

He checked the hotel bathroom mirror and could see the guise made him appear as a fairly average man with a square jawline, blue eyes, and combed back brown hair. Nothing unusual about that. His outfit was merely a gray suit with a blue tie. The color didn't seem to suit him, or any guise he wore, so he quickly pulled the mask off and tossed it next to the sink. It was obvious now that there would be no way he could talk to her without a disguise. So much for that.

Oh well.

Talking to her was something he dearly wanted to do. So what if he had to keep his real self hidden? Or, well, his hidden self hidden? He'd been hiding his identity for years, but now that he was hiding his fake identity's identity, things were getting a little out of hand.

Just some conversation was all he was looking for. What was the harm? So perhaps she'd never know that the enemy spy had an interest in her. That was fine. It would save everyone the embarrassment of knowing.

Tomorrow was another day. He'd try and find her again and see if she was more willing to talk. As long as he remembered to keep the creepy stalker stuff to a minimum, it would probably be fine.

Right?


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I had a question posed by a reviewer named Chessolin. "Are BLU and RED Scout's mom really different, or is it just Spy's impression?" I believe both women are extremely similar, just happen to have different relationships with people. Spy really dislikes RED mom, and therefore her personality makes her undesirable to him. She's really NOT ugly or fat. (They also sound different in my head. BLU mom being more nasally. And yes, Spy finds it exotic. Haha) I like to treat each BLU/RED "copy" as separate people. Similar, but not the same person. Like an identical twin.

Now, onward.

/

The rejection from the previous day still bugged the RED Spy, but he wasn't going to let it get him down. Women were puzzles. Some had few pieces, big pictures, and were easy to solve. Others were quite the opposite. The BLU belle was somewhere in the middle, he'd just have to keep fitting pieces together until he figured her out.

With his new disguise already intact he set off for the fishmonger where she was undoubtedly purchasing some haddock or clams. The walk wasn't long, as he found a hotel quite close to all of her usual spots. On his way he even stopped to buy a small bouquet for her. Nothing big or fancy, and it lacked the color she so despised. He should have done this before. Seriously, why was thinking straight suddenly so hard?

After passing a multitude of whining children, noisy tourists, and avoiding collision with a bicyclist carrying a sack full of oysters, he made it to the corner market that emanated the stench of a thousand dead fish corpses.

"Thanks Joe, I'll be comin' back fuh thuh flounduh this weekend!" That was her voice. It was unmistakable. The song of a thousand angels and archangels proclaiming Halleluiahs to the highest caliber couldn't compare to the sweet, exotic chime that this woman could create. She was at the door, pulling it closed behind her, when he made his move.

"Good morning, Ma'am." She turned, and for a moment looked shocked, "How are you today?" The bouquet was extended, and she contemplated them for a moment.

"I thought you said you wasn't gonna be hittin' on a taken girl." She took the bouquet anyway and stepped away from the fishmonger. She attempted a sniff at them, but it would have been a wonder if she could smell anything other than salt water and fish guts. "I suppose I should be askin' what yuh want, then?" A defensive pose was put up and Spy did what he could to look innocent.

"I thought perhaps we could chat?"

"I have shoppin' tuh do," She replied curtly, "so I guess yuh outta luck."

"No, no, let me accompany you. I'm sure the bags get heavy—"

"Why ah yuh so insistent?" She started walking away, but her heels wouldn't allow for fast travel. Spy followed at a comfortable pace.

"There is nothing wrong with friendship."

"Men and women can't be _just_ friends. It nevuh works that way."

"Aren't you friends with the fishmonger? _Just_ friends?"

"Well, _yes_,but it ain't like we meet up and chat or nothin', and he certainly doesn't give me flowuhs fuh _no reason_."

"Flowers brighten anyone's day."

"No man who "just wants tuh be friends" gives uh woman uh bouquet uh flowuhs outta thuh blue like that." She studied them and shook her head, "My _boyfriend_ will not approve uh this."

"Not even a friendship?"

"Nope. He's short tempuh'd and used tuh play footbawl."

"I'm sure if I met him, all would be well—"

"Just take uh hike, and stop followin' me!" She snapped her head around to look him in the eyes, "I just met yuh yestuhday. Yuh didn't introduce yuhself, and yuh comin' outta nowhere with flowuhs!"

"You hardly gave me a chance to introduce myself. I figured I needed a way to apologize for interrupting you—"

"I ain't buyin' it. I ain't interested." They were nearing the supermarket and she tried to quicken her pace, "Just go-OH" As she spoke, her heel snapped and she tumbled to the side. Spy lept forward with the grace of a one-legged cat and caught her around her waist before she hit the ground.

He wasn't prepared to catch dead weight, especially at such an odd angle. It wasn't like he was weak or anything, but the force of the fall made him lose his balance as well, and his pant leg tore at the knee. So much for _that_ suit. Unfortunately the scuffle caused his mask to unbalance, which in effect caused his guise to melt away. _Merde._ Only one thing he could do.

"Oh no…" She groaned as he helped her steady, being careful to stay behind. He let go quite quickly as her arm came down and threatened to touch him. A quick re-adjustment and all was well. Hopefully.

Her shoe was beyond repair, and she was a good ways away from home. The color rose in her cheeks from both embarrassment, and perhaps distress.

"Are you alright?" He asked hurriedly, but she merely nodded in response. She didn't recoil in horror when she turned to look in his direction, so for now he was still fooling her. The bag she was carrying was a bit crushed from his adrenaline-fueled monkey-grab at the time of her fall, but otherwise fine. Her purse was still secured around her shoulder. The bouquet had fallen, and Spy picked it up, brushed off the dirt, and handed it back to her. She didn't say anything, but rather took it silently and hid her face behind it.

"Thanks fuh catchin' me." She was strong-willed and determined to continue her daily chores, so she hobbled forward. The difference in height from her shoes was too great and she wouldn't have gotten far without a twisted ankle.

"You're going to kill yourself." He noted from behind her. Embarrassment hit max levels and, combined with the shock of the sudden shoe-breakage, tears began to form in her eyes. Spy only saw it when he rounded her to help her sit on a ledge. There were no benches close by.

"Well what d'yuh suggest I do, huh?" The BLU babe, so beautiful even in her own misery and distress, slumped forward and shrugged, "I ain't got money fuh new shoes."

"Where is the nearest shoe store?" A lady in need of a new shoe should never go ignored. Not in this situation.

"I told yuh I don't have money fuh—"

"You're a size…7 ½, or 8?" He calculated based on appearance alone. Who knew how many times an old girlfriend wanted to go shoe shopping. And for once, he'd be going willingly.

"I _told_ yuh, I don't—"

"I'll cover it." She sighed, looked away and bit her bottom lip. "It's the least I could do."

"I can't trust some stranguh to get me new shoes!"

"You're going to have to."

"I'll go home barefoot."

"On the pebbles and broken glass? I think not." As if on cue a car passed by and tossed out a used coke bottle. It shattered not far from where they were sitting. This seemed to make up her mind.

"Fine." She slipped a shoe off, revealing toes painted a dark blue color, and a bunion that seemed irritated and painful. "I want ones like this. Size 7 ½. Go three blocks north and uh block west. You'll see thuh place."

"I'll be back in a flash, Ma'am." He turned and started making his way to the worst type of store in existence, out of pure free-will, when she called after him.

"Oh, and mistuh? …thanks." Her smile was genuine. It was enough for Spy to kick it into overdrive and make it to the store in record time.

/

Dealing with 8 other crazy mercenaries who all acted like they were on their periods every day of the month? Easy. Dealing with nosy shoe saleswomen who wanted to know this and that and why and how and would-they-please-shut-up-already! No thank you.

"I want shoes like this." Spy told the impossible woman again for the tenth time and held out the broken blue heel. "Just _please_ point me in the right direction, or help me, or _something_, but for the love of all that is holy, stop _talking!"_

"Wow, yuh so _RUDE_, bub!" The gum-smacking girl snatched the shoe from his hand and went to an aisle to find a matching pair. It took far too long for her to come back with shoes that, well, weren't the same. They were blue, but the style was off.

"Those are not pointed toe shoes."

"Outta them, bub. Tough luck."

"Fine, fine, just let me pay." He was getting so frustrated, he figured his accent would slip at any given moment.

"And why is yuh pant leg all torn up, huh?"

Enough was enough. He threw the money at the girl, snatched the unwrapped shoes and got the hell out. He could hear her calling him back, but forget that! He paid more than enough, so there would be no reprimanding, and it wasn't like they needed gift wrapping. Not in this case.

He got back quickly, and found she hadn't moved at all. "What took yuh so long?" She called out when he got back.

"The cashier held me up." He extended the shoes to her, which she graciously accepted. Upon seeing the wide toed heels she frowned,

"These ain't what I asked fuh."

"The girl said they were out."

"Well…" She tried them on and tested them out, "I guess they'uh okay…thank you."

"If it means anything, I think you look great in them." She grinned and took up her bag and bouquet.

"Thanks fuh doin' this, really. I aughtta go home I guess. Fish'll go bad if I wait any longuh." She made to go, but he stopped her,

"Would you like to have dinner together sometime? Tomorrow night?"

"Well…" She bit her lip in thought, "I don't know how my, uh, boyfriend would feel. Yuh know?"

"Invite him too. Why not?"

"That ain't right at all!"

"It will be fun! I promise. Just bring him along."

"I…he's outtuh town."

"I'm not a dishonest man, I swear it's only a dinner invitation." She fidgeted on the sidewalk before shrugging to herself and nodding.

"Yeah, fine." She shifted her purse and dug through with one hand until producing an old receipt and a pen. On it she wrote something quickly and extended it to Spy, "Sometime aftuh 6. See yuh then." She paused a moment, then added, "Yuh still haven't introduced yuhself."

"Perhaps another time." She smirked and rolled her eyes at that.

"Alright, Mistuh Mystery Man, keep yuh secrets."

He watched her go until he could no longer see her curvy blue silhouette.

/

His second meeting had been short, but worthwhile. She hadn't turned down his dinner proposal, and things were looking up. Spy figured he had a bit of time to kill, since it was a little past lunchtime and he had over 24 hours before he'd be going to the address he already knew. First things first was to get rid of the mask.

"Yo, Spy, buddy, I thought I saw yuh!" That voice. Oh, no, that voice. "Whatchuh doin' round here, man?" Scout.

"Eez none of your concern, you annoying piece of—"

"Yo man, whatever, we should go get somthin' tuh eat. You payin'? Awesome." The RED Scout, in his energetic manner, urged on his teammate, and cared not for trifles concerning Spy's reasons for skulking about his hometown. Spy didn't really want to follow this whelp, he had things to do. Like make dinner reservations, and send his slacks to get mended.

Spy just couldn't get away. Every time he tried to make a dash for a cab, Scout would lead him another direction with the strength of a thousand rabid bunny rabbits. Obviously some seriously radioactive beverages had been consumed by the Scout recently, and goodness, it was starting to really affect him. The long walk through the streets of Boston led the both of them to a hole-in-the-wall pizza joint. "Yo man, this place is awesome. I ain't nevuh had bettuh pizza. Not even in New York. This guy Tony? He does it _right._ Cept I don't even think his name is Tony. It's just what everyone calls 'im." Spy wished he could have jumped through the window into a moving vehicle to get away from the constant jabbering, "But yeah man, I love this place. I'd take thuh whole team if they was visitin'. Speakin' uh which, why'd you say you was here again? Oh shit, hold on." She Scout paused to zoom in front of another young man and his girlfriend to order two pies, "on thuh double, or else I'll come back there and give yuh what fuh!" The chef, in response, threw a rather large, greasy pan at the Scout, who managed to dodge it. Too bad for the guy behind him.

Spy decided to grab a seat amidst the chaos that was ensuing. He had things to worry about, so he pulled out his notebook while the football playing boyfriend started screaming at the chef. The chef, in turn, started screaming at Scout. Scout decided to hit on the football player's girlfriend while everyone was yelling, which started a fistfight. After about five minutes of shoddy street fighting, someone broke it up, and the boyfriend and his girl left without ordering any pizza. Scout then chatted up the counter girl until his pizzas were ready, and then he begged Spy to pay.

"C'mon man, we're pals right? I'll pay yuh back, honest!" He pleaded until Spy conceded.

"Don't you 'ave your _own_ money?" Spy growled to his ecstatic teammate, "Eez not like you are not paid, you know?"

"Yeah well, yuh know how money is and shit. Gave some to my muthuh and I bought uh brand new TV. State uh thuh art stuff right there. Wanna slice?" And so, Spy grudgingly had his lunch with the one teammate he'd rather not dined with. Listening to the Scout drone on about guns, girls, and Tony's back hair was just not appetizing conversation.

"Zees really eez…great." Spy lied, "But I 'ave some zings to do. _Au'voir_."

"Alright, then. See yuh."

On his way out he took one look up the road and just about stopped dead in his tracks. There was the RED Scout's mother. Walking straight toward him. She looked up as she neared the place, and her expression quickly went from contentment to displeasure.

"Cow." He muttered once she was within earshot,

"Fag." She sneered as she passed him and entered the pizza joint.

"Hey Mah, I grabbed us uh pie fuh latuh!" He heard the Scout shouting even through the closed door,

"Oh that's so thoughtful uh yuh!" Spy left at that. No sense hanging around unknown parts of the city anyway. He had a reservation to make.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I'm sorry for the slow update suddenly. I have a lot of studio work, and I get very anxious/stressed easily. I also feel like we're heading into dangerous territory. This always seems to be the part of the story where I forget how a character should act, and everyone is OOC. I'm going to do my best to keep this somewhat believable though. Because you're all patient, I sketched up a picture. It contains what I believe Spy's guise to look like.

The links are on my profile page, if you care to see.

/

Finding a restaurant in Boston wasn't hard. Finding a restaurant that was impressive, but not overly fancy was a little harder. RED Spy didn't know where the BLU lady liked to dine. He knew she enjoyed certain foods, and that she largely cooked for herself and, oftentimes, company. He knew wherever he took her would have to upstage her "boyfriend," but also keep things within the realm of possibility. Taking a date to the nicest place in town on the first outing? Bad idea. Worst idea. Worse than that time they let Pyro use the grill for the annual barbeque.

He'd asked some locals, most of which were unhelpful, or disguised tourists. "Oh, yeh think we're locals?" One unhelpful man commented, "Ey, Linda! Dis guy thinks we're locals! How funny is dat?" And so, the day began with humiliating laughter. Surprisingly, many people couldn't get over his accent.

"Wait, yuh talk funny." One brilliant woman noted, "You from Europe or somethin'?" To which he sarcastically replied that, no, he was from Bangladesh. "Yeah, but ain't that in Europe?"

In the end, Spy chose a place that reportedly had an "excellent seafood menu," which happened to be just like every restaurant in Boston. The difference was that this one was Wannabe-French-Bistro. American women loved those kinds of things, right? Foreign stuff was in.

With time on his hands, and nowhere to channel his nervous energy, Spy went in search of a tailor to fix his slacks. The tailor was very rude and informed him it would take a few days. "I leave in two days." Spy informed the tailor, "I must 'ave zeez by zen."

"Sure, buddy, sure." The tailor rolled his eyes, "Maybe if I had some _encouragement_ I'd get it done faster." Spy's last reflexive drag took out half of his cigarette. As the ashes fell to the floor he asked how much it would cost. "Just fork over the long green, buddy." This vacation was really getting expensive.

He figured having a walk around town was in order, since there was only so much he could do. Another alternative was to work on the suit his disguise would wear. Hell, maybe he'd even add a mustache. A mustache was classy. Manly. He wondered for a moment if she would think it odd that he grew it overnight, until he saw her.

He wasn't supposed to see her yet. She was supposed to be shopping for—oh wait, she wouldn't have to shop for dinner. She was going to be with him. No, she was carrying a bag from—from a clothing boutique? Was a new dress really that important for one night of dinner? Didn't she have a closet full of dresses that she never wore?

All of these were fascinating questions, and would have been pondered, if the RED Scout and his mother hadn't rounded a corner in front of the BLU babe. She faltered for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden rush of RED, but regained her composure quickly and carried on with her head held high.

And then the RED devilwoman spoke.

"Gosh, I didn't know thuh freak show let theyuh main attraction walk around town." Her statement was followed shortly by the most repulsive giggle on the planet. If only Spy had not been within earshot to hear such a horrendous thing.

"Yuh jokes uh gettin' mighty stale, yuh RED retahd." The BLU woman sneered, "Yuh used that one last week."

The RED cow scoffed, "Funny, because that's probably how long it's been since yuh bathed."

"At least I don't look like uh _gorilla._" The BLU mom was getting flustered, "Yuh might want tuh shave those legs, yuh hairy ape!" The RED Scout was now towering behind his mother, adding another element of unease to the situation for BLU. Spy considered helping her, but what was the point? These confrontations probably happened all the time from the sound of it. It would be best to just sneak off while he wasn't noticed…

"My legs uh _FINE!_ At least they ain't _FAT_ like _yours!" _Spy was almost out of there, just another few steps and he'd be gone. A crowd was gathering to watch the spectacle and he didn't want to be part of _that_.

"Hey! Quit insultin' my muthuh!" Oh great. The BLU Scout. Spy only had so much time to dodge out of sight before the radiation-chugging menace flew out of nowhere and readied his baseball bat. "Say goodbye tuh yuh face, numbnuts!" BLU Scout was fast, but so was RED. He blocked with a moment to spare, and before anyone knew it, the two were trying their earnest to beat the everloving shit out of each other.

"Just like BLU," The RED devilwoman spat, "yuh can't even control yuh dimwit son, huh? Even lettin' him attack a lady?"

The BLU babe was turning a lovely shade of pink, "He probably thought yuh was uh giant baseball. Considering how _round_ yuh are."

In the midst of the insult throwing and the swinging of bats and the occasional "_Bonk!" _a crowd was definitely gathered, and, well, Spy couldn't have anything happen to his date. He'd already squandered too much of his money away for this to blow up in his face.

With a heavy sigh (that finished the rest of his cigarette) he dragged himself to the fighting and shouting and shoved aside bystanders to get to the fray. "Move eet or lose eet." He shouted as he shoved and threw people out of his way.

"Yo, Spy buddy!" RED Scout looked relieved. Well, maybe he did. It was hard to tell through his black eye and swollen lip. Spy took hold of the BLU Scout's collar and hauled him off his teammate, who took one last punch at his enemy.

"Awesome, now you hold em, and I'll punch thuh crap outta him!" RED Scout exclaimed. Spy would have none of it. "What thuh hell, man!"

"Zhere eez no _respawn! _We are not paid for zis. Eet eez 'ardly worth it._"_ RED Spy shoved the BLU scout toward his flabbergasted mother, who knelt down to help her son off the ground. The crowd jeered at the sudden fight breakup.

"I was just gunna rough him up a little, geez. Whatevuh, man, whatevuh." Scout picked up his bat and turned toward his mother, who was giving the look of death to Spy. "He won't be so lucky next time." With that, the REDs left. Spy watched them leave and went to retrieve a cigarette when he heard the air move quite suddenly.

He lifted his left arm to block, and it connected with the full force of a bat.

It hurt.

It hurt a lot.

"I decide not to take ze side of my teammate, and _zis_ iz 'ow you repay me?" In one swift movement his butterfly knife was out and dangerously close to the BLU Scout's jugular.

"I got some questions, Faggy." The Scout hissed between gritted teeth, "Thuh hell 'uh yuh doin' in my town? Shouldn't yuh be in France or some shit faggin' it up?"

"Per'aps I just enjoy ze scenery, _mon ami."_ The spy chuckled, and pulled his cloaking device out of his pocket. He took a final glance at the BLU mother, who had a look of discontent, and muttered, "_Adieu_." He felt his protective cloaking shield go up, and he was out of there. He looked back once to see the BLU babe and her stupid son, who clutched his ribcage, walk off toward their house. He hoped this wouldn't ruin the mood for dinner.

/

His arm hurt like a fresh crocket to the face, and what was worse was that there was no medic. He should have let the stupid BLU whelp get beaten into unconsciousness. People these days! They couldn't just be internally spiteful and walk it off, could they?

The bruise was large and yellow. It wouldn't be long before it started turning a sickly green, then blue, and finally purple. Maybe even magenta. Spy shook his head and covered the offending mark with his sleeve. He had a disguise to fix. With a few strokes of a black marker, his guise was ready for a night out for dinner. Blue tie, black suit, slicked back hair. _Très bon._

But then he remembered he had forgotten to do something. Rent a car.

With a slur of Frenglish swears, he pocketed his disguise and rushed down to the lobby. "_Excusez-moi, Madame_, Where can I find a place to rent a car?" He asked the nearest lobby attendant, who gave him an address close by.

He made his way there, constantly checking his watch and worrying he'd be late. The lot had plenty of cars, some old and rusted, some polished and new. All Spy wanted was a car. And he wanted it five minutes ago. The owner of the place was finishing up with a man who was trying his best to get a deal. Both the owner and the man were obviously very stingy, and somehow Spy knew this ordeal would be slightly more painful than his arm.

"I want a car. Eet 'as to be blue or black. Fairly new. I will pay cash." The word "cash" was a trigger, and the shifty man whipped out the paperwork faster than a level three teleport. With a quick sign there, there, there, initial there, and there with a date, he had the keys to a shiny black auto. Traffic was slim to none, and the weather was fine. As he neared her house, he hoped she wouldn't stand him up because of the little fiasco earlier in the day. Granted, his guise had nothing to do with it, but hey, women. They were a mystery wrapped in an enigma. Who knew what they'd do!

He whipped out the mask (causing a fresh jolt of pain to shoot up his arm) and slipped it on as he pulled into her driveway. She didn't have a car, as she never needed one, and he briefly wondered why she bothered living in a house with a driveway in the first place. A quick look to his right, and he saw what looked like the BLU Scout strolling off into the distance. Good riddance.

It was still light out, and a sea breeze had cooled the area. It was a nice night for going out. His last date, as he fondly remembered, was spent in the freezing cold Alps with hardly proper attire. Never again!

He knocked on the door and waited for what felt like an entire week in dustbowl, when he heard someone yelling. "Come in, it's unlocked!" The house was as he remembered, though smelling faintly of lemon. He called out a "Hello!" to which she responded, "Just gimme uh moment!"

He took a seat on one of the living room couches and looked around the place. It was then that he realizes there was an absence of pictures. No sons, not even trophies. It made the room seem quite bare. She must have gone to quite the effort to hide her life from him. About 15 excruciating minutes later, the BLU beauty finally emerged from her room. It took all of Spy's willpower to keep his jaw from dropping. Her curves were accentuated in all the right ways. That naughty dip on the v-neck dress threatened to reveal cleavage. Her stride was graceful and unbroken as she neared him, smiling behind plum colored lipstick. Her eyeshadow was dark, making her jeweled blue eyes stand out like a flare in the night sky.

"Sorry fuh thuh mess." She murmured shyly and gestured to her nearly bare living room, "I mustuh lost track uh time."

"Yes—no—that is, your house is lovely." The beauty dipped her head in such a way that Spy assumed she was blushing, but behind her makeup, it was hard to tell. "And so are you."

"I won't be havin' none uh that, Mistuh." She smirked, "I'm _always_ lovely." Her finality on the subject was so sincere Spy couldn't help but grin,

"So you are." He pulled open her door and extended a hand toward her, "Well then, shall we?"


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Goodness it's been a while. I'm sorry! I have excuses, but who wants to hear those? Onward.

/

"I've nevuh been heah before." Was her comment as RED Spy parked on the crowded curb. The BLU babe looked at the brightly lit bistro thoughtfully, then back at her date, "Have yuh evuh been?"

"Well, no, I can't say I have. I'm not a local, you see—"

"That much is obvious." She smiled, "But I give yuh credit."

"Er, credit?"

"Fuh tryin'." Spy didn't quite know what she meant, but he'd bet a thousand balaclavas she was one of those hard-to-impress types. Or the hard-to-get. Either way, he'd make sure she had a great night whether his wallet liked it or not. It was just so hard to be frugal these days!

The hat-check girl was perfectly annoying, with her obnoxious gum-smacking and eyerolling. The maitre d' was even worse, and his fake French accent made Spy want to backstab himself.

"Party for two? Mais, oui. Now, what eez your name, mon-sur?" _Mon dieu_, the pronunciation. How butchered could it get?

"I called earlier."

"Zat eez not a name, mon-sur." The squinty-eyed, pale-faced maitre d' replied and flipped through the book. "You left a name, yes—er—oui?" In truth, he had, but it was merely an alias, and besides, the place wasn't packed. There were plenty of open tables.

"Here, I can see it." Spy pointed to the book. The date and time were correct, it was definitely his.

"Er, Mon-sur Anonny-Moose? Right." He reached out very suddenly and yanked aside a passing waitress who dropped the dishes she was carrying. Into her now empty hands he shoved two menus. "Show Mon-sur Anonny-Moose and his _ravishing_ lady to zerr seats." The girl nodded tiredly, and added hastily in bad French,

"Oui, Mon-sur Perry."

"Oh," The Maitre d' added, "and clean up ZEES MESS!" He yelled and gestured to the plates on the floor, "I shall dock your pay for zees."

So the evening wasn't off to a great start and the BLU lady was looking rather frazzled. The girl sat them and promised to return soon for drink orders. Before Spy could say anything, she was off.

"So, Mistuh 'Anonymous," if that IS yuh real name—"

"Oh, you caught that?"

"You implying I'm slow?"

"I'm implying that our maitre d's pronunciation of words is beyond horrible."

"Ugh, I know." She smirked and rolled her eyes, "I know uh French guy. He'd freakin' flip a French fry if he evuh heard this." She curled her hair behind her ear and looked around, "Not uh bad place, though." She looked thoughtfully at a picture of the Seine that hung just above their table. All in all, the atmosphere was perfect aside from the staff. The bistro was dimly lit, soft music played from who knew where, and the bar was stacked with endless shelves of wine. The walls adorning the sides of booths were plated with mirrors, giving the BLU babe a reason to fret over her hair. Spy thought she'd look stunning even f her head was caught in a blender.

The menu was very typical, and mostly in French. "Oh, goodness." The woman breathed as she tried to decipher the food items, "Yuh wouldn't happen tuh know any French, would yuh?"

"I know a bit." Spy replied and skimmed the paper, "The _Plat du Jour_ looks good."

"Thuh…what now?"

"It's the special of the day, basically. They're serving trout."

"Oh, trout sounds g—"

"I'm back for lay drink orders mad-am, mon-sur!" The waitress appeared out of nowhere and interrupted for what would be the first of many times that night. Orders were taken, and the girl scampered off again, leaving the two speechless.

"She really is…enuhgetic." The BLU lady commented and went back to her menu. Spy gave an inward sigh. It was always just his luck to get the hyper waitress. Why couldn't he catch a break just _once?_

After a moments contemplation and a quick scan of her surroundings, the BLU babe cleared her throat, knocking Spy out of his own musings, and asked, "So, Mistuh, yuh still haven't given uh name."

"Ah, well, that I have not." She smirked and brought a hand up to her chin,

"So? Whut is it?" She leaned in, anticipating an answer

"Ha ha, well, I suppose you can call me—" As if on cue, the waitress flew back into their world with the grace of a hundred elephants with broken legs.

"I'm—(huff)—back for—(haa)—dinner orders!" She weakly held up a pad of paper and pencil, awaiting orders.

"Uh." The BLU lady blinked twice and narrowed her vision, "Drink orduhs? They somethin' of thuh past?"

"Oh gosh!" The girl flew away, yelling out "I am lay sorryyyy!" As she disappeared behind a wall. The other patrons seemed relatively unperturbed by her actions, as if it were expected.

"My gosh." Spy's date shook her head, "I don't unduhstand why they bother with thuh French."

"Me either." Spy muttered through gritted teeth

"So, about yuh name…?"

"Perhaps if you stick with me through this roller coaster, I may tell."

"That's unfair!"

"Hardly. I have to suffer through it too. _And_ I'm paying." Good lord, was he paying. Goodbye money.

They made light conversation. It was a bit of a stretch finding topics that didn't have to do with guns and explosions and decapitated Scouts. She once brushed the topic of color, and how red disgusted her, but he found a way to turn it back into shoes. Damn did she love shoes. Spy figured he was hard-pressed to find a lady who didn't these days.

He found himself more often than not inspecting her as she ate. Noticing how the soft yellow glow of the lamps illuminated her skin just right, how her thin fingers played about the fork, how a piece of green bean was caught in one of her teeth. She was certainly beautiful, and God that laugh. The laugh of an angel. A choir of angels. He felt right when she laughed, felt like a million balloons had latched onto him and pulled him away from it all.

But that waitress. She couldn't leave them well alone! The bad French was really starting to irk him as dinner started to end. He was sipping his Port, just trying to admire the BLU beauty in peace, when the maitre'd stomped past yelling in broken French about last Thursday's clams.

"My Gawd, they certainly like to staht uh racket!" He hadn't noticed her going at the bottle, but suddenly it was quite empty. "This is really great wine." She smiled into her glass, and Spy couldn't help but chuckle.

He should have seen what was coming, he should have known and prepared himself. But so caught up in his date was he, that when the maître'd stopped by his table and the waitress rushed past, he didn't even _think_ the crazy French impersonator would grab the girl again! But then, he did. The poor waitress, just trying to make ends meet, carrying two large trays laden with food passed by, and he grabbed her arm! It was as if time had slowed. A bowl slipped and landed on the table, cracking and sending its contents all over the BLU babe. Clam chowder never looked so edible. It was quickly followed by lobster tails, which landed in her lap. The destruction to the rest of the area was tremendous, and Spy thanked his lucky stars that he escaped unscathed.

As time caught up, the BLU beauty blushed a very deep scarlet, and opened her mouth to say something, but instead let out a choked sob. The waitress noticed the predicament, and as she went to grab a towel, the maitre'd realized what happened and began to reprimand the girl. Spy's date rushed off in one direction, the waitress in another, and Spy definitely felt as though he had enough. "I am very sorry mon-sur, she eez very clum—" He was cut off quite suddenly by Spy's fist, clutching the loose material around the man's throat and pulling hard,

"I don't need to hear it." He spat, "I have put up with this all night, but this is the last straw! Your French is _vraiment horrible_, it's pronounced '_Passez une bonne soirée'_, and now you've _ruined_ a wonderful evening."

"Non-non-non, you see, eet was—"

"And enough with that accent!"

"—I am deeply offended by you, mon-sur! I shall have to ask you to _leave zis instant!_" He did leave, of course, but not without a swift punch to the jaw. The guy would recover. His top priority was now to find where his date ran off to, and perhaps pay that bill. He left a stack of cash on the table and went off in search of her. He deducted that she had probably run to the washroom and was unsuccessfully wiping the clam chowder out of her eveningwear. He confirmed with a nearby table that she had, in fact, passed by. He decided to bide his time and prepare his fists, lest the maitre'd came back with a vengeance.

She was out soon enough, makeup streaky, and dress covered in splotches of clam chowder. Their eyes met, but she quickly looked away out of embarrassment. "I'm sorry." She muttered, "I guess I ruined dinnuh."

"Nonsense." Spy waved her off and took her arm, "Clam chowder had never looked so tempting as it did on you." She made a sound, much like a snort, and followed him from the building, "Let's go home and get you cleaned up then, shall we?"

"I guess." She shrugged, "I'm still sorry."

"I punched him out cold, if that makes you feel any different."

"That fake French man? Eh. Whatevuh. He deserved it."

"I will admit," Spy said as he led her to the car, "That was probably the least destructive meal I've had in a while."

"Ha! Whaddya work in, a wah zone?" He wondered how she would have reacted if he said yes.

The drive back was relatively quiet, with Spy making most of the conversation. He could feel her embarrassment radiating off of her skin. Her beautiful, pale skin. With a piece of some herb stuck to it by her shoulder…

"Well then, here we are." He tried not to sound disappointed or cheerful, but couldn't quite pick the right tone. He opened her door and led her up the walkway to her front door.

"Well then…" She started, "I thank you fuh dinnuh…even though I….well…"

"I enjoyed every moment I spent with you." She looked back down to her feet, smiling all the while,

"I still don't know yuh name." She spoke quietly, "Yuh gonna tell me?"

"Perhaps." He replied, "Someday."

She rolled her eyes and sighed quite audibly, "Well then, Mistuh, I thank you again." She smirked, "I guess I'll see you around?"

"I sure hope so."

She went in, and he turned to go. As he did he heard a voice from inside the house, "What did yuh do tuh my _kitchen?_" It seemed her son had returned and made quite a mess of things. But that didn't matter. What mattered is that he'd finally gotten her. Perhaps the night hadn't gone as badly as it seemed.


	9. Chapter 9

A new day. A new chance to shine.

There she was again, sitting at the café, drinking cheap coffee and reading the comics from the daily paper. It was a tranquil scene—one Spy wouldn't normally want to intrude upon, but time was of the essence. That is to say, this break was far too short.

He cleared his throat as he approached her, blue-suited, all-American American guise perfectly in place, and she jumped at the sound. "My-Wh-Don't yuh _know _it's common courtesy tuh wait three days befoah callin', contactin', or _seein'_ uh date?"

"Yes, yes." Spy waved off her comment and sat across from her, "But I'm afraid I'll be leaving tomorrow and I want all I can get of you." She seemed to choke on any words she had, "Besides, what would your, ah, significant other say about that?"

"Wh—oh, right." She played around with the charm on her bracelet, "It was just—old habit." She was so cute when she was flustered, and how her lips played about the rim of that coffee mug—God help him. Spy was falling for this woman faster than a Scout hopped up on Bonk cola.

She cleared her throat, "So. Tomorruh?"

"I'm going back home."

"I knew yuh didn't live around town." She smirked into her coffee, "So are yuh one uh those guys who gets his kicks from hittin' on women when he's in a new city?" Her eyes narrowed on him suddenly, "Yuh not one uh those _married_ types who tries tuh—"

"No." He cut her off, "No, quite single, I assure you."

"A nice guy with outstanding coluh choices in clothing like you?" She paused to observe him, "Yeah, sounds about right." She closed her paper and surveyed the ocean. After taking a deep breath of salty sea air she asked, "Where are yuh from, Mistuh?"

"Oh, here and there."

"Sounds mighty suspicious if yuh ask me." If she leaned a little closer he could almost catch a glimpse of cleavage, "Why the mystery, mystery man?"

"Doesn't it make me more appealing?"

"I suppose." She leaned back—damn, the view was getting so good, "But I feel left out. Yuh seem to know moah about me than I do of you." Her jaw slanted left, "That's hardly fair."

"In time, my lady." Spy assured the BLU lady, "I admit I only know what you have told me personally, and that you enjoy sitting here on pleasant mornings with a cup of coffee. Also your shoe size."

"Yuh still ahead of me yuh know."

"Yes, I suppose you're right."

"Well, add this tuh yuh list." She had his full attention now. Something new? Something different in the mind of his BLU babe? "I enjoy gettin' a bit messy every once in a while, and I don't mind hangin' around thuh scum uh Boston. Howsabout you and I make up fuh that dinnuh disastuh?" He couldn't help but flinch. He had planned it out so perfectly. To have dinner ruined by a waiter was just so cliché.

"Alright." He tried to put on a smile, but could only wonder where she was planning. Scum of the earth? _Mon dieu_.

"You. Me. Joe's Clam shack. All yuh can eat seafood. Bring yuh bib, cuz honey, yuh gonna need it." The glow in her eye was dangerous—carnal. He didn't realize she had such a passion for cheap seafood.

"I can't say I've ever been." Spy choked out. Messy dining was never his thing, but for her? Anything.

"I'll take yuh. Easy to walk tuh, actually, if yuh don't mind." She turned back to the view of the harbor, "No need tuh dress fancy. I'll even pay."

"That is hardly acceptable." He jumped at that, "I don't mind paying for—"

"Nonsense. Yuh practically uh foreignuh!" Oh, if only she knew, "Maybe us locals can be a little hospitable sometimes, yeah?"

"If the lady insists…" It truly was against his morals

"I do. Also, about yuh name—"

"Tonight." He stood up at that—a gesture that made her frown, "Tonight perhaps I shall tell you."

"Perhaps? Quit stringin' me along, Mistuh!"

"Now, now, it is perfectly acceptable for two people to be friends and never know one another's name. Why, when I was younger I knew a—"

"I don't care fuh yuh stories, I just want a name!" She was quite persistent, that BLU beauty.

"Tonight." He inclined his head, "I'll be around, say, 6?"

"Yes, yes." She sighed wearily, "Bring an appetite." That was one promise Spy was certain he could keep.

/

Adjusting a mask was never a problem, but heaven help him if it ever came off. Tonight was not a night he wanted to mess up. He was still put off by the first disaster. How could that have happened? He had planned it out in his head so perfectly! Ah well, no matter, tonight would be different. Tonight it would be him and the BLU babe eating clams by the dozen by the beach.

Ah, perhaps leaving for her place now would be smart. He didn't want to be late. So, with the brand new slightly-casual mask in place, he set off for her house.

He didn't expect to pass by her son. He didn't expect to hear him muttering about his "stupid, anoyin' mom's dumb old date bullshit." He did, however, expect it when he passed by and paid Spy no heed. Spy was, in fact, disguised, why on earth would the BLU idiot even notice? The BLU Scout was among the dumbest of the dumb, this Spy knew.

The walk didn't take long, and the evening was pleasant. He was there before he even knew it. She greeted him like an old friend, clad in her usual blue garb, and told him to get ready for the best damn seafood of his life. "I can hardly wait." He replied as cheerfully as possible, but dreaded the possible outcome of buttery sleeves. It seemed all of his table manners would have to be shoved aside for a night. But for her, anything.

Anything.

It was a strange thought, to want to give a woman anything. This woman, at least. She was the enemy—the _mother_ of an enemy. And here he was, falling for her, and all of the little things that made her the BLU Scout's mother. "It's so nice out this evenin'." The BLU babe cut into Spy's musings, "Yuh picked a great time tuh visit Boston, it's hahdly evuh this pleasant fuh so many days straight."

"Well, I had the time, and I do enjoy the view." He wasn't talking about the ocean of course, but her gaze still went to it.

"Yeah, it's somethin' alright." For a little while they walked in silence, and although Spy was quite accustomed to silence, he found that for once it was uncomfortable and unwelcome. He floundered for something to say, but needed time to think over his words in case he should say something that was, well, creepy.

"Have you lived in Boston long?"

"All my life." She replied with a grin, "Probably always will. Nowhere else appeals tuh me, yuh know? I like familiarity I guess. How about you, mistuh? Will you tell me where yuh from now?"

"Well…" Spy trailed off, where would his character be from? "I grew up here and there. Minnesota, New York, Tennessee."

"Yuh don't sound southern."

"I lived there later."

"Whereabouts?"

"A little town somewhere outside Nashville."

"Did yuh like it down there?"

"No, I much prefer the north." Generalizations were always a good start, Spy figured. He should have thought out this character through earlier. It would have made this easier, he knew, but in the heat of the moment he'd just forgotten all protocol.

"Yuh lived in New York though?" She sounded hesitant, "Yuh not a _Yankees_ fan ah yuh?"

"Er, ah, no. Not at all." Baseball team, right, baseball was one of her passions, "Though I do enjoy baseball."

"So what is yuh favorite team then?"

"Well, I must say the Red Sox aren't all that bad."

"Damn right, they're the best!" She grinned from ear to ear, "Yuh bettuh not be just sayin' that tuh get on my good side, Mistuh."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Before Spy knew it, they'd arrived at the well-lit shack on the boardwalk, crammed with people and tables laden with fresh catches. His mouth watered at the sight of the lobster. Lord knew he could eat ten of those little critters right then.

"Ey Joe!" The BLU babe shouted above the loud drone of the customers, "I need uh table!" A large, greasy man behind the counter looked up and gave a knowing smile. He gestured to the back and before Spy knew what was happening, the woman had grabbed his hand and led him to the procured table. "It gets a little loud in here!" She shouted back

"You don't say!" Spy could only do so much to keep from rolling his eyes. Remember, keep the sarcasm to a minimum, most women don't appreciate it. Right. _Bon._

It was crowded in there. Very crowded. And smoky. Maybe she wouldn't mind if he just had one—

"Gawd, sometimes I just can't stand thuh smoke though. Evuh since I quit I've just wanted one so bad." Well, guess smoking was off the menu. Spy decided to just deal with the cravings and instead indulge in her, "Ah you starin' at my chest?" And that was quickly looking like the wrong thing to do.

"Ah, er, no." Spy spluttered, "Merely admiring your necklace."

"This old thing?" She played with the pearls, "Yeah sure, bud." She smirked, "Tell me anothuh." The two sipped on beer until the first round of clams came. Spy wasn't one for beer, or swill, as he liked to call it, but if it made her happy. So be it.

"So will yuh tell me yuh name or what?" She asked as she piled her empty shells in neat stacks, "Or am I gonna call you 'Mistuh' forevuh?"

"Mistuh' is just fine with me." Spy responded through bites of clam, "Besides, I don't know your name either."

"You are thuh one who approached _me,_ I think I should have thuh courtesy of yuh name _first_."

"The lady makes a fine point, but what if I never indulge you with my name?"

"That's not fair."

"Is it not?"

"No. What kind uh friend doesn't let on theyuh name?" She seemed flustered, annoyed by his anonymity.

"Sometimes a nickname is all one needs."

"Ugh." She shook her head, "I don't unduhstand you, Mistuh." He tried to change the topic, to keep her spirits up in light of the fact that he wouldn't give her a name. There wasn't one he could quite come up with in a snap that seemed fitting. It didn't really matter. It wasn't like this would be a thing. Right?

She wasn't really all that interested in him. Right?

She did laugh at his jokes, and talked about herself quite freely. She was impressed at his knowledge of guns, but disappointed at his preference of pistols. "Shotguns ah so much bettuh. More powuhful."

"Sometimes precision is better than power."

"Yeah, yeah, that's what they all say." She waved off his reasoning, "Actually, I'm just impressed that yuh weren't scared away by my hobbies."

"No, I like a strong woman who can fend for herself." She smiled at that, but said nothing.

Dinner seemed to end too fast, but by Spy's watch it was quite late. "Spose I should get payin'." The BLU beauty reached for her purse, but Spy, ever the gentleman, stopped her.

"I insist." He pulled out his wallet

"No, dammit, I said I'd pay." She extracted a coin purse and with a snap, opened it

"This goes against all of my morals."

"Welcome to the 20th century, bub." She hailed a waiter and handed him the cash before Spy could even find the words to protest, "Some of us can pay fuh thuh dates now." She jabbed a thumb at herself and got up quite suddenly. He followed suit.

"Don't be offended." He told her as they left the crowded, brightly lit clam shack, "I'm just not used to this is all."

"Yeah, yeah." She sighed, "Spose I just get wound up a bit sometimes…"

How to make it up to her? Spy kicked himself for getting into this rut, but how was he supposed to know? Think, think. Ah. "Would you care for some dessert, perhaps?"

"Dessert…?" Her eyes lit up. Even in the dim of the streetlights and shops he could see her interest piqued.

"Would the lady like ice cream, maybe?" He knew she couldn't resist chocolate ice cream. She lived for that frozen treat. She lived for cocoa.

"Well, I _guess_ I wouldn't mind." She tried to play it off, but he saw her for what she was. He stifled a chuckle as he offered his arm and led her down the boardwalk.

"Ah, I love chocolate ice cream." She sighed contently as the two enjoyed their treat by the road, "Not great fuh thuh figure, but, eh…"

"I think you look perfect."

"Oh, please." Even in the dark he felt her blushing.

It was then that he realized that he really didn't want to leave. He still had so much to learn about this BLU Bostonian. He felt like he had only hit the tip of the iceberg. But work was something he couldn't avoid. He was a mercenary. A killer. A _paid_ killer. And after all o this, he'd need all the pay he could get.

"I nevuh met anyone who liked vanilla though." She gestured at Spy's half eaten cone.

"Ah, well, maybe I'm just boring."

"Nah, I wouldn't say that."

It was quiet on the walk back. They walked slowly, steadily, back to her house. Her arm was linked in his the entirety of the way, and he wished that it would never end. That he had the gall to invite himself in and sweep the woman off of her feet.

No, no. Play it safe, play it slow. She wasn't a floozy, nor one of those easy-to-gets. She was a different type of woman. One who wasn't swayed by fancy dinners and expensive drinks. She was simple, and yet in that way, so very complicated. Spy had never tried to woo such a woman. He'd never been interested in one before.

"Yuh can let go uh me." Her angelic voice interrupted his thought process, "I need tuh get my key…" How had they already reached her door? Damn. Why did it all have to end?

"Well, ah," She nervously rubbed her neck, "Thanks fuh accompanying me tonight."

"It was my pleasure." Now was his chance. Just step a little closer,

"Seems uh shame it had tuh end so soon." Her voice was low, quiet

"Indeed it does." Shut up, just kiss her! Wait, no, bad idea, stop looking so desperate. Just inch forward a little, hand around the waist. Yes, pull her in, no not like that, _mon dieu._

She opened her mouth to say something, but only a small sigh escaped her lips. He descended upon them, he needed a taste. Just one to dwell on in the months to come. One to give him a reason to come back and have more. She accepted it, to his surprise, and let him hold her close as he gently kissed those luscious lips of hers. When he broke away he was staring into deep pools of blue that threatened to consume him.

"Er, Mistuh?" The moment was broken by her angelic voice, "Do yuh…smoke?"

"Oh. Um." He did his best not to drop her out of sheer embarrassment. How could he have let that slip him mind! Had the smoke really permeated every part of his mouth that nothing in the past four hours had masked it? "Well, yes, occasionally. I'm so sorry if it offends you."

"No, just…" She fished for the words, and noticed she was still clinging to him, "Damn. Damn you." She pushed away, "Gawd I've been tryin' to get off that shit for months."

"My deepest apologi—"

"Don't apologize, just—just—" She was floundering, and when she couldn't find her words, grabbed his tie and pulled him in, "Just promise tuh write." She gave him one final kiss before disappearing into her house and leaving him there on the porch with a satisfied grin.

God, how he wished the vacation could last forever.


End file.
